The Discord of Harmony: A Kender Tale
by Janarky
Summary: A Planescape & Forgotten Realms fic, with a strong nod to the Spelljammer & Dragonlance setting, showing a half-kender's quest to find her lost kender mom on Faerun while evading Harmonium forces in pursuit of her.
1. Chapter 1

_**Quick Note:**__ I'm saving almost all author comments for the end. For now, I'll just say that I'm using the 3.5 system with a lot of source material (including _Races of Faerun_) along with a lot of information from 2nd edition sources (such as _The Planwalker's Handbook, The Factol's Manifesto, Planes of Chaos _box set_, Planes of Law _box set_, The Complete Spacefarer's Handbook_, etc), and, of course, many of my favorite novels. And yes, my characters love to talk, but there is action, and I expect more to follow soon. _

_This story has a mature rating partly for the first chapter, but mostly because from chapter 17 on I include magic, spells, and concepts from the_ Book of Vile Darkness_. Yeah, mixing THAT with kender (including a regular kender who becomes a main character in chapter 19) was quite the balancing act…_

_Please note that the kender are very unusual, as explained in Chapter 2. I've also taken a lot of effort to make all the campaign settings understandable so that if you're unfamiliar with any of them, then you can hopefully still understand what's going on. Enjoy!_

"You mean to tell me, that he removed your innards  
and strangled you with them???"  
**- Human Priest to a newly resurrected Kender Sensate**

"Yeah...Cool huh?"  
**- Smiling Kender's response (Borrowed from the Mimir, a Planescape site on the net)  
**

**CHAPTER 1: Surf's Up**

Lenny of Arborea, formerly Lent Tyrm of Arcadia, loved surfing.

It had been a rough start at first. He'd come to White Sands for the Transplanar Surfing Event by the (in)famous reefs known as The Gauntlet, to show up the baatorian measure of the Harmonium that had sneered that he was too cowardly to face the chaos of Arborea. And he was glad he had. Arborea was amazing! But to get any respect around White Sands, you had to ride the waves.

So he asked around and found a local githzerai (a variant of the human species that had adapted to surviving the plane of Limbo), raised here since childhood, who got him a surfboard in exchange for his ruby. He said it was magical, enchanted to remain with the one surfing while in water ("but don't let anyone ride tandem with you," he'd warned), would keep its rider from slipping off when paddling out or riding a wave, and if in spite of that, the rider fell, was prevented from hitting him too hard when it came back to him. It was also self-cleaning and waxing. So far, the gith's word seemed true and the board was all that it had been hyped to be, though he was still obviously what some of the surf bravos (usually called "shredders") referred to as a gremlin, or gremmie. Nevertheless, he was what the locals referred to as "charged" (one gnome in multicolor trunks observed that he was "amped," which he assumed was Gnomish for "charged").

A penguin-like creature called a dohwar, also seeking to learn the sport, became friends with him, though he always seemed to be trying to sell something, and they both joined a group dedicated to helping gremmies like them learn the sport. The group was composed of a few half-elves, elves, aasimar, and plenty of humans like himself. A little later, even a kender wanting to learn bodyboarding joined them, though Lenny was confused as to whether he was supposed to be an adult or not. Other than humans, he had seen very few to none of these races before. Now he knew why: they were way too cool for Arcadia. He even saw a couple of half-satyrs and half-nymphs and was amazed that he wasn't struck dead on the spot as his father warned him would happen, if he ever laid eyes on one.

They took him to a quieter beach where several other beginners were also learning to ride. About 5 waves into his first session, a movement caught his eye and he turned to see a pair of dorsal fins pop out of the aquamarine waters. He panicked, lost his balance, and fell into the ocean, sure that he was going to be devoured by the anarchic sharks that sometimes hunted in Aquallor's deeper waters in the plane of Arborea. Then he realized it was a school of dolphins that had passed him by. He felt stupid, but also blessed, and it turned out to be a really cool experience for him.

Then a couple of waves later and the small wave he was on turned into a huge roaring 8 footer, and he wasn't able to hold on. The board flew from under him and he went under. He suddenly didn't know which way was up and again he was sure he was going to die.

And then he saw blue woman with pale blonde hair, staring at him with eyes like the ocean itself. He gasped at the sight and at her nearness. To his stunned delight, he found he was breathing underwater. She took his hand and led him to the surface, where he saw his new friends had already come out to look for him.

At the surface, the fey woman sniffed him and ran her fingers over him, far more curious about him than he was about her--and he was very curious. One of the half-elves told him, in awed tones, that she was a noviere eladrin, one that took it upon herself to guard the lives of land dwellers new to Aquallor's oceans. After a couple of hours in which she tutored him and the other beginners in surfing, she turned into a glowing golden dolphin and swam away, singing happily.

It was very cool. And it got better.

A few waves later, he suddenly realized another surfer was on the wave with him. Startled, he fell off his enchanted board. It reared up and hit the other surfer. He was terrified he would be pummeled by the other surfer in this anarchistic land, since his family had told him to never trust a scumbag surfer, especially in Arborea. But it turned out to be a half-elven lady. She was worried that _he_ had been hurt.

They became lovers that very night after gazing rapturously at the moonlit path on the night sea and increasingly at each other. They shared brews and smoked exotic pipe weeds by a beautiful roaring fire. They also exchanged stories, showed off, shared their hopes and dreams. She taught him mad ditties and wild songs that violated every Harmonium obscenity and blasphemy law on the books. One of them even praised rebellion against the Harmonium. At home, that song would cause mass panic and calls for the police. She was teaching him to dance, too.

It was, without a doubt, the very best day in his entire life. A life that he now knew without a doubt had been pathetic and shallow. THIS was living. All those years he'd wasted, following rules, obeying orders, doing drill marches--when he could have been living. Out here, people appreciated individuality rather than being frightened of it. And while a few were emotional and sometimes scary and unpredictable because of it, the people were far more kind than folks back home.

His dad was such a clueless sod. A hyped up Measure, that is commander, of the Harmonium, he was always going on about the need to combat chaos, and the glorious new age that the Harmonium would bring to the multiverse. Things like fun, joy, individuality were threats to be guarded against, lest they topple the universal harmony.

Yeah, right. What a screed.

If the planes were shaped by beliefs, moral and ethical alignments, and other philosophical and spiritual concepts, then he'd choose the beliefs that shaped Arborea rather than Arcadia. It scared him to think that if the Harmonium—who were attempting to control all the planes by uniting everyone under a single philosophy--succeeded in their goals to stomp out the very concept of freedom, fun, and whimsy, that Arborea would cease to exist.

If the Harmonium were to ever decide that mercy and compassion were as important as law and hierarchy, then maybe there'd be something redeemable about their vision. He knew that some of the paladins and celestials in the faction were trying to impart these values, including Faith who had become the Factol since the assassination of her husband, but had not yet succeeded. In fact, the Harmonium had even faced conflict from some of the celestials and beings of Mount Celestia, the plane where Goodness was just as important as Law (much like how Goodness was as important as Freedom in Arborea). And Lenny's own father, Measure Two Tyrm, considered the question of Good and Evil (essentially defined as to whether a being thought helping others or harming others was important in achieving self-fulfillment) was a distraction to be ignored. His only concern was Order through Harmonium Law.

Measure Three Romamman of the Harmonium, whom his dad answered to, was the one to tell him about the White Sands competitions. He was a minor baatezu called a hamatula, a large humanoid fiend a little over seven feet tall, covered in natural barbs. The baatezu themselves were a fiendish race of devils that promoted the ideas of Law and Evil, which was the exact opposite of the ideals of Freedom (called "chaos" and "anarchy" by most supporters of Law) and Good in which Arborea was founded. Factol Faith seemed determined to drive them from her faction, but that didn't seem to discourage Romamman. "Go on to Arborea then, if you think chaos is 'cool.' You'll see that your father is right." Then, seeing that Lent looked hesitant, he'd added, "Or you'd go if you weren't such a coward." He even gave him the ruby that he'd used to buy his board.

Despite the odd feeling that he was somehow being manipulated, he had gone. Now he was here and he LOVED it! He would NEVER go back to Arcadia! He'd run away with some of the bacchae spirits first! Or join the Sensates, or Children of the Vine. Arborea was so full of freedom and beauty and wonder, things his father's precious Laws couldn't compare to.

The next day was even better. Especially as he saw morning and night being born in dawn and dusk. Arcadia did not have this strange, beautiful event. In Arcadia, a thing was or was not. And with that belief shaping reality, it was either day or night, with nothing in between. Thus, no dawn or dusk existed on Arcadia. But they did exist on Arborea, and it was beautiful.

On their beach that day, they were blessed with beautiful, clean, sunny conditions and perfect waves about 4 to 6 feet high. Yet the majesty and awesomeness of the ocean was evident even if that power was gentle and welcoming now. With dried salt caked to his lips, sun beating down on his back, his muscles alert for the slightest change in the waves, he and his honey cheering each other on, he felt the freedom of the plane and an exhilaration that he imagined the mewing seagulls above him felt.

He was on his own, and he loved the freedom of it. He loved his honey, he loved this ocean, he loved his board, and--for the first time in his life--he loved himself. His life had been empty but he hadn't realized it until White Sands filled that emptiness within him. And for the first time, he realized that his life was his own, not something that belonged to his parents and instructors. Those worries were on another plane and he intended to never worry about them again. Like the sea he rode upon, he was free, and no one owned him but himself. He'd abandoned his duty to his family and the Harmonium and now lived for himself, his honey, and surfing.

The third day was better still. Stretched naked on the white sand, the sun warm on his skin, his lady stretched beside him, a crowd of unclad members of many races around them, he remembered his first morning at the beach and laughed. He hadn't been able to find the courage to take even his shirt off, although he could see that many of the local and visiting folk did so without even blinking. Now he could take it all off. And instead of putting him in irons, he was cheered on by his new friends (assuming they even noticed that he flouted common morals and decency), who themselves lived a life that was full of what at home would have been called daily law breaking. Even capital offenses.

Oh, how he loved it here. Just as his father loved war and "maintaining order." These had been the best days of his life. He'd never imagined life could be this good, this joyous!

And though he was new to surfing and bodyboarding, he had picked up on it really fast. He was sure it wasn't just the magic board. His family liked to say that a carefully considered plan beats spontaneous action every time. Maybe that was true in Arcadia, given how belief shaped the planes and those that believed that tended to live in Arcadia and not Arborea, but here in Arborea he found the exact opposite was true (just as the locals believed). He felt joy in trusting his luck and defying death as he rode the huge waves over the Gauntlet, a bunch of jagged reefs that had killed more than a few surfers and bodyboarders during the odd Transplanar Surfing events hosted by the Sensates. He wondered if this was the joy his father felt as he put more berks to the sword. He pitied his father.

There was also the odd marid, sea hydra, chaos shark, and sea lion--in this realm, a half seal, half lion creature, large and very fierce-- that occasionally took out someone who dared to ride the waves, too. But the tritons, sea elves, sea sprites, and dolphins kept these attacks to a minimum. It was said that some of the reefs further out formed the palace of celestial storm giants that were the unofficial rulers beneath the waves, if one could be said to rule out here.

The rules were weird, beyond anything he had ever experienced in the Planes of Law. He had thought Arborea had its own rulers. And while some parts did, ruled over by gods and such, most places existed only under rulers that the locals had put in for themselves, dissolving the governments when they felt it no longer served their best interest, or had no rulers to speak of at all. His new friends said that a good ruler around these parts was invisible. Here, in opposition to Arcadia, government--when it even existed--was ruled by the people instead of the other way around. Governments were ordered and dissolved--or ignored-- by individuals, and existed to protect and serve the individual, which was the Arcadian system turned on its head. More often than not, the leaders even had to gain the permission of those they ruled before they were allowed to act as a leader in the first place!

Furthermore, about any religious, philosophical, or political entity existed to serve individuals rather than demand individuals sacrifice themselves for The Cause. People sacrificed themselves for others, but the sacrifice could only be earned and inspired, not demanded as an obligation or duty. In fact, here in Arborea, it was expected that if ANYONE was to sacrifice their own lives for their people, it was whoever was in charge! That was something that still awed him beyond words.

In Arcadia, he was due to enter the military as part of compulsory service. But here in Arborea, drafting into the military was unknown, except for in a few Greek settlements. Freedom here was the rule, not the exception. Yet many communities apparently had active citizen militias. They didn't go after evildoers in the same way as the law folks did on Arcadia, though they did at times pursue some rogue entity that preyed upon the community. These "citizen militias" looked for lost children, put out fires, kept an eye out for the troubles brought about by the environment and other sentients that had a bad reputation or demonstrated ill will toward others.

Citizens, even those not in the militia, normally had weapons that were normally restricted to the law folks and soldiers on Arcadia, and yet people didn't fear one another here, at least no more than on Arcadia. While individual establishments might bar obvious weapons, most were able to get all the weapons they had the ability and desire to have, even without gaining permission or even registering them with the local authorities. Instead of being seen as a danger, neighbors seemed comforted that their friends and neighbors could come to their aid with arms if necessary. It was what his teachers had described as "chaos," except that life was joyful and passionate instead of brutish and short. Sure, accidents, bad luck, and evil deeds intruded upon people here, but that was just as true of Arcadia, and even Mount Celestia, too.

And then there were places like White Sands. As far as he could tell, there was no ruler at all here. He heard about the celestial storm giants beneath the waves, but he saw no sign of them, no proxies or police. He heard that the local celestials--primarily angelic devas, elvish eladrins (like the one that allowed him to breath water for a few hours as he first learned to surf), celestial marids, and winged snakewomen of rainbow colors called lillend--were pretty good about stomping on anyone who committed brazenly evil acts or tried imposing law on the locals. But there was nothing imposing or frightening about them. They were beautiful to look at, and they seemed to enjoy being admired. There was no sign of rank or hierarchy that he could discern.

Here in Arborea, people respected your reputation, not some meaningless badge. And yet most people got along, and were even faster to help (and rarely to hurt) since they didn't need an order or permit before they did a good deed. Indeed, good deeds won you friends and respect here, while evil deeds meant you had few, if any, friends, you paid more for goods and services, and couldn't count on the goodwill of your neighbors the way the good people of Arborea generally could. People were expected to be able to act as adults, rather than children forever in need of permission of some bureaucratic state. To someone from Arcadia, this was sheer anarchy.

There was a school of duelists on one of the neighboring islands and they sorta patrolled White Sands and the surrounding land communities, acting similar in some ways to patrolmen in Arcadia. They helped people in trouble (guiding the lost, helping pets out of trees, helping the injured, that sort of thing), but they were highly individualistic and answered to no one but themselves and their own code of honor. They had loosely defined beliefs in the right of property, self-defense, honor, and self-determination. To them there was no difference between a king and a peasant. Each was judged by his or her own merits and treated according to the reputations as they earned for themselves. And rather than conformity and military discipline, they were swashbucklers with a shared _esprit de corps_.

While they prominently displayed weapons, he'd never saw them draw them on anyone other than each other. Except that one incident.

Last night he had seen several pirates come into the tavern where he and some friends were celebrating the joy of being alive. They bothered no one, despite being loud, and he had already learned to ignore them. And then one of the women dancing on stage was grabbed and pulled off by two pirates. The human bouncer hired by the Sensate running the tavern was over matched by the pirates who banded together in support of the two who'd grabbed the dancer, and it looked as though they would have their way.

Then three of those duelists challenged the pirates and met them blade for blade. Finally, one of them challenged the apparent pirate captain to a duel. After first blood, the captain admitted defeat and the pirates left. No jail, no arrest, no nothing. Had the pirates pushed the issue, they likely would've been killed, but that was it. Unless you counted that they would have few friends here for the immediate future (and probably friends and sympathizers of those they harmed wanting vengeance), which would mean higher prices (assuming anyone would do business with them) and no one to help them in an emergency.

It was bizarre. The local swashbuckling duelists reminded him of the Young Rangers organization that he and friends of his had belonged to as children, only they were adults that carried rapiers instead of uniformed children that carried knives. And the duelists wore clothes that appealed to their vanity and sported mementos of their adventures and achievements rather than uniforms that demonstrated their rank. The reason for this was apparent, too: they judged each other by their individual deeds instead of by rank. Their highly individualistic and signature styles of dress proudly advertised who they were, and thus the reputations they boasted, rather than some meaningless rank of authority that most people simply didn't even care about.

When he asked why the duelists didn't just go around robbing, raping, and looting like those pirates had seemed ready to do, he just got confused looks, as if the question made no sense. Finally, a new friend answered, "Because they're decent people, not governors. Besides, we'd hunt them down like the rabid beasts they were if they did that."

That answer brought about an epiphany. Well, not an epiphany, but a realization: Arborea was nothing like Arcadia, and he loved it as much as he hated Arcadia. And while this land seemed to have no rulers, it was not without order. He felt safer walking alone here on the white sands of a coastal Aquallor island than he did among the heavily armed guardsmen in Arcadia that eyed him, looking for a chance to fine, arrest, and rehabilitate him. And while there were dangers and potential disasters that existed in Arborea, such things also afflicted those in Arcadia just as often.

But the biggest and most important distinction to Lenny between Arcadia and Aborea was that home had nothing like the priestesses of goddesses like Aphrodite, Sune, Freya, and Sharess. Or of the gods Pan, Dionysus, or Olidammara. Or the one many elves and half-elves revered, Hanali Celanil. He had promised himself as a devotee to Aphrodite as this was the patron goddess of his half-elf girlfriend, but he really saw no point in only one (his girlfriend also revered Pan herself, the god being a power near the sylvan hamlet of stunning natural beauty that she said she lived in). He really enjoyed her explaining how fornication and intoxicants were the only way to handle the idiots that tried governing the multiverse, too.

Though contrary to Arcadian rumor, plenty of people here were not obsessed with sex and intoxicants. A few didn't seem to care for these things at all. And that was okay with everyone else. For another thing, people on this plane saw differences as interesting, not threatening. They were proud of their nonconformity rather than ashamed or persecuted for it. If a person didn't like the personal choices and tastes of another to the point of being offended, then generally they just avoided each other. They didn't declare war over it. If that was anarchy, then the baatezu and Harmonium could go sit on their swords, because he came, he surfed, he loved, and he was staying.

And so it was that he decided that he, too, would surf in the Gauntlet. The ocean here was perfect Mother Nature, so incredible, miraculous, and even a little terrifying. It was much like the freedom of the plane itself manifesting itself through its nature. Fun, glorious and wonderful, yet it could destroy you almost whimsically, like an ant it didn't bear worthy of notice. He rode, knees wobbling slightly, upon the thickest waves he'd ever seen in his life and wouldn't have dared without an enchanted board. It was like the entire ocean was folding upon the reefs below, and he realized that with his new found liberty, he was responsible for himself, and he had to know his own limits. No one else would set them for him anymore.

There's no way he could be like the champions this time, but many others were new to the sport like he was, and so he didn't look all that bad. And besides, surfing was a test of character. The lazy and weak-willed gave it up because they weren't good instantly. But the brave and determined stuck it out and were destined for greatness. And even now his half elven honey cheered him on as if he were already the greatest shredder Arborea had ever seen in the final heats.

Intoxicated with the sheer power of the ocean beneath his board, the freedom of the plane and the intense love in his heart that Arborea intensified, he was surprised when a wave instantly swelled to a gargantuan size and he wiped out in surprise, cutting his arm on one of the reefs below. But he didn't panic until a clammy hand grabbed his arm and pulled him through the waves. He twisted his arm and broke the grip to swim upward to the surface.

He got only a breath before a blue-scaled man broke the surface beside him, glaring hatred at him from fish eyes. It swam at him with surprising speed. He swam away, hoping one of the eladrin or devas would help him, as he was a long ways out and he knew this creature meant to kill him. He swam only a few meters when a clammy hand wrapped around his ankle. He kicked and felt scales beneath his foot and was released. But moments later, a webbed hand covered his face. Just before he went under, he heard its gurgling voice say, "Die, baatorian spy!"

He never got a chance to say how much he hated the baatezu. He never heard the anguished screams from the shore of the half-elf that had already fallen in love with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: Of Sponging and Ice Cream**

Merla Bramblefoot hated the ocean.

It wasn't just that it was dangerous out here, even on idyllic Aquallorian shores of White Sands, between rowdy tourists and sea beasties. It wasn't just the surfer that had been killed yesterday, dragged out by a freak undertow and drowned. Nor was it that she knew she looked ridiculous in this pink swimsuit that left only her head, arms, and feet exposed (as usual) as she held onto her "sponge," also known as a boogie board or body board or belly board, as opposed to the more popular surfboards, illustrated with colorful tritons against a dark blue background. It was that hin like Merla, what big folk liked to refer to as halflings, had better sense than a half-kender like Sylvie Starblossom.

"Are you sure?" asked a concerned and somewhat disappointed Sylvie Starblossom. Her long black hair with a hint of blue, common to the moon elves that her half elven father was descended from, was wet and dripping. Her jade two-piece bikini with a skirted bottom and a halter-style top, while pretty to look at, seemed extravagant on one that appeared to barely be a half elven teen, her excessively youthful appearance being a mixed blessing from a mixed heritage given to her by a kender mother and half elven father.

Her swimwear also left more of her pale skin that would never tan exposed and vulnerable to jellyfish than Merla's more sensible, if silly looking, swimsuit. At least she wasn't wearing swimfins on her feet like many other spongers were doing. But her sponge, bright red so she could find it easily (but Merla thought would attract sharks), and illustrated with seashells, added to the silliness of her appearance, as far as Merla was concerned.

"Sure," confirmed Merla. "This water is not fun. It's wet and icky."

"But it IS fun!" shouted Sylvie, splashing in it, upset that Merla wouldn't even play the Question Game with her, in which each question was answered by another question. Merla must truly be distressed. If only she'd TRY having fun, she WOULD! "And you should try the sponge I got you before you give up on it! Come on, try something new! I promise you'll like it!"

"Nope," said Merla, "I'm going back to shore right now."

"But why?" asked Sylvie, as she ran to catch up with Merla. "Can't you feel the rush of the flow as the waters caress and massage your body?"

"I'd rather feel the warm sand between my toes," said Merla, walking towards the shore, dragging the hin-sized sponge behind her. "That's safer, and..." Merla's eyes went wide, and then she shrieked, running to shore, letting go of the sponge.

Sylvie ran after her. "Oh, what is it, Merla?"

"SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAAAAAAKE!" shouted Merla as she ran. As she broke onto the shore, Sylvie saw a thick strand of seaweed wrapped around her thigh. "GET IT OFF ME!" she shouted, falling down and struggling with it.

Giggling, Sylvie pointed and muttered an arcane phrase. The sea weed instantly fell off her friend, who was breathing hard and looking at the stalk in wide-eyed horror. She then got Merla's sponge.

"How is THAT fun!?" demanded Merla. "Some snake tried to EAT me before you turned it into seaweed! Maybe fun for YOU, but that was TERRIFYING for me!"

"I did NOT turn a snake into seaweed," said Sylvie, catching up and kneeling beside her hyperventilating friend. "It WAS seaweed. I just cast a cantrip that got it off of you is all."

"You and your kender stories!" Merla shouted, more embarrassed than angry now. "I HATE the ocean!" she cried. "I'm staying on land for now on!"

"A wise choice," said Faelar, the black cat. Not that Merla could understand him. But being her familiar, Sylvie understood him very well.

"Hush, you," she admonished her familiar. "She doesn't need any discouragement from you. What she needs is ENcouragement."

Merla looked at the cat who started to groom himself. "If the cat is saying to stay on land, then I think this is one of the times you should listen to him!"

"Don't be silly," replied Sylvie, "what would a cat know about water fun? Come on back in and I'm sure you'll like it."

A human washed up near them then. He crawled onto the shore just a few feet away, puked out seawater and seaweed, and then collapsed right by where he puked. A gash on his head was bleeding. A surfboard, apparently one of those that were enchanted to stay with its owner, flew through the air and landed on top of him.

"Oh, dear," cried Sylvie, "I think he needs help!" She ran up to him, even as others were doing the same from further away.

"Yeah, I'll love it," muttered Merla. "She must think I'm a masochist!"

She hated the water, but she had to admit the beach was beautiful. The bright, white beach sand dotted with Prism Palms (especially beautiful when glowing in the night, surrounded by softly glowing sunflies dancing happily!) and their delicious and invigorating prism seeds that were not only one of the most delicious fruits she ever tasted, but helped people to heal faster. And, of course, the luminous blue green water that lapped spiritedly at the shoreline.

They were on a calmer beach with a lot fewer people. _Fewer people to have seen me running with sea weed around my thighs_, she thought abashedly. _Far better inland, though, among the finer resorts of the Sensates, the Arborean twinkle tea and evermead served in fine taverns, and the excellent spirits of other kinds served. Lots of pretty pearls and other jewelry, too. Yes, dining on finer things and shopping is much more fun than worrying about sea serpents!_

Sylvie soon rejoined Merla, who was already drying herself off and getting ready to put her simple green dress on with its pretty pattern of daisies that showed only a little of her pink swimsuit underneath. Faelar lay in the sun beside her, staring intently at some of the seagulls, swishing his tail. Casting a quick cantrip on herself, she was instantly dry. "Okay, what DO you want to do? Go back to Brightwater?"

"Later," answered Merla. "There are still plenty of tourists."

"And pockets to be picked," said Sylvie reprovingly. "Look, don't ruin this for me by getting a rail party against us."

"Oh, please," replied Merla, "tourists are just interesting sources of amusement and information, and I don't really have a place to hide anything I took anyway. Few people around here are carrying much in the way of valuables, unless you count their surfboards and sponges. And I, for one, don't. Even you left most of your stuff with the Rivenstones. Besides, I'm hungry. I bet Faelar would enjoy some seafood, too."

Faelar instantly got up and rubbed against Merla's leg.

"There you go again," sighed Merla to the cat. "One minute you act like I don't matter, the next you glare at me, and then you act like I'm your long-lost mother. Do you like me or not?"

Faelar looked at Sylvie and said, "Tell her I like her, and then pass on that I told her to give the ocean another chance. I about laughed up a hairball when she came running out with seaweed around her halfling legs!"

"What did he say?" asked Merla suspiciously.

Sylvie quickly put her hair into a topknot in the style common to the kender, put on rainbow colored arm covers that were actually elven designed sashlings with hidden pockets for spell components and coins, and finally slipped on an azure loose-fitting sleeveless tunic that exposed a bit of her jade top and was designed to keep the wearer cool and almost reached down to her knees. After that, she slipped on a pair of azure flat sole boots, each that also had a small pocket that was covered by the fold at the top. Finally she was prepared to go find a meal to hopefully put Merla into a happier mood. As she joined Merla, picking up both sponges and draping them over her shoulder, she answered her with, "He said he likes you and that you should give the ocean another chance."

Merla narrowed her eyes. "Like I said," she repeated, "I can't tell if he likes me or hates me."

Walking back to the more populated regions of White Sands, they approached a decent looking (and loud) tavern called The Pearl. At the door, Merla took a breath, realizing that hin were rare on this island. So were others of her size, unless you counted some of the smaller fey folk that wandered in at times, or that Lantan gnome with the multicolored shorts, or the kender that were showing up here in surprising numbers, many of them with sponges.

Merla unconsciously shook her head as she thought of the kender showing up. More than a few of them had their own swimfins attached to their feet like shoes, and carrying small sponges made for their size in with which they were quickly becoming proficient trick riders that amused the crowds. She shook her head in disgust as she recalled Sylvie giving away the enchanted sponges she'd made to some of them as "they'd get them anyway, and no one else hin-sized seems to want one." What a waste of jink! Many of them were taken with this sport and becoming somewhat obsessed with it, which was rare for an easily distracted kender. But the kender weren't true hin, despite what many humans thought. Kender were, well, kender. About the only thing the kender had in common with the hin was their size. Kender were native to Krynn, which had no hin races, and other worlds where hin resided did not have any native kender that she knew of.

Granted, there were a few superficial similarities, like taunting. But not all hin were taunters, and the kender were all true masters of it. They had an almost magical ability to find the way to taunt an enemy into a blind rage that made him more easy to defeat (useful given that most kender were smaller than those who menaced them and not inclined to being warriors able to fight disciplined warriors of other races--granted, their ability to taunt their foes had proven to be a mixed blessing). And whereas only some hin were given to traveling and indulging their curiosity about the world, all kender experienced wanderlust. But given that many humans only saw hin with a similar attitude, she supposed that, at least, was an understandable mistake.

But there were some extreme differences, too. The most notable was the kender being absolutely fearless. They were so fearless that even fear magics and dragons had little to no chance of inspiring it in them. They'd show surprising nonchalance even if a dragon attacked their homes. This is not to say that they were stupid in the suicidal sense. They realized that death would mean they could no longer explore the world or be with their friends and that made them sad. So they'd avoid death, but they didn't fear it, at least not in the same way other races, including hin like herself, did. And the fools were so curious about the emotion of fear that some of them even went on quests to find something to scare them!

Another difference is that the kender had no concept of private property. This is not to say that they had a government that redistributed wealth, as the kender didn't understand wealth as other races did, so they didn't see anything to redistribute. They simply took what they needed, seeing it as "borrowing," but they had little concept of stealing or thievery. Likewise, they almost never cared when someone "borrowed" from them, and would probably give you anything that you wanted if you asked them for it. As for their habit of picking up things that they DIDN'T need, that was usually based on curiosity and wanting to "handle" something when they had more time alone to better understand it or what the object meant to the person that had it, or the place it had come from (they usually failed, instead inventing a ludicrous explanation that others called "kender tales"). They'd almost never "handle" or "borrow" coins or gems as these things were rarely interesting enough to kender.

They also lacked the ability to organize themselves as hin did. In Kendermore, their government was so disorganized that there were public roads that went through the houses of kender (but many kender who lived in these homes seemed to find this interesting) and the building where the town met to discuss matters of political import was missing a wall and the meetings often ended before adjournment due to brawls, taunts, or even just wandering away in boredom. As far as Merla could tell, it was more of a game of "let's pretend" than any real government anyway. In many ways, kender were more like children than adults when you came right down to it. That is, if children knew no fear, took what they wanted (though they did know compassion for others and weren't inclined to hurt those that hadn't hurt or threatened them first), and gave blistering insults to those that hindered them or called them thieves. That, and they were physically adults, but Merla didn't want to think about the awful, awful pickup lines kender used on each other (such as two kender meeting while out on wanderlust and one saying to the other, "Now I see why they call this wander LUST!"). Nor did she like dwelling on the mechanics of Sylvie being concieved from a half-elf father and a kender mother.

Sylvie, being half-kender, was less immune to fear, understood the concept of private property, and had inherited only some of the kender's famed ability to taunt. Having been raised by hin in Faerun also helped to impart some sense into her head. Even so, Sylvie needed Merla's guidance, lest she wind up in the deadbook like so many kender who didn't have the sense that Yondalla gave most hin.

But of course many of the larger races insisted on confusing the kender with true hin races like stouts, tallfellows, and hairfoots. Her own grandmother was a Daisypetal, one of the tallfellows on Faerun, and even connected to the Starblossoms in Silverymoon via business relationships, which was the family Sylvie's dad came from, though few admitted the relationship of Sylvie to their clan. Merla's mother was half tallfellow and half hairfoot, taller than Merla with light brown hair. But the important part of that was that Merla herself was taller and thinner than most hin, and had inherited the bright green eyes from her Daisypetal granny. But she was still barely over three and a half feet tall. Her brown hair and foot fur she'd inherited from her hairfoot father, a Bramblefoot. She was small for a tallfellow, but tall for a hairfoot.

Sylvie was barely over four and half feet herself and looked like a young half-elf of moon elf descent, barely a teenager, even for a half-elf. This would cause most people to ignore them, but the few that didn't could be trouble. Beside the pervs, others would note that she was dressed very nicely for a child and figure she was worth kidnapping for ransom. Granted, both types of troublemakers were in for a very rude surprise when they discovered the "child" was an adult wizard capable of taking care of herself, but it was an inconvenience Merla preferred to avoid.

Not that the three of them (counting the cat) weren't used to trouble. Heck, Sylvie had gotten her out of Calimport before one of the local assassins could kill her. Got her out on a spelljammer, too, which was promptly attacked by scro gun runners. She shook her head at her momentarily getting lost in the past. Given the vagaries of the half-kender in front of her, she'd have to stay focused in the present. Sylvie would've found her own end many times over if Merla hadn't shared her common sense with her.

_Well, we'll have a little fun and eat something, and then we can go find a finer resort to crash in_, she thought to herself, letting Sylvie and her cat go in first. _After a nice meal, I can say I'm beached, and hopefully Sylvie will skip this Gauntlet silliness. Then we can go enjoy the festivities, fireworks, shows, clowns, and shopping. A picnic would be nice, too. But no more sea serpents! I don't mind feeling the tide in between my toes, but that's as far as I get into the water!_

Luckily, no one gave them any problems. Sylvie carried Faelar on her free shoulder now, probably because the scaredy-cat was afraid of having his tail stepped on. Merla couldn't wait to check out the bill of fare. Arborea had some of the best food in the multiverse. This, Merla knew, was why Arborea had the best parties.

Many windows let in plenty of sun to light the room. There were intoxicants, from alcoholic beverages to exotic pipeweeds, and no "minimum age limits" as existed in some places, so the half-kender didn't have to hide her youthful appearances. People of many races interacted in chaotic harmony in the tavern, all of them focused on the beautiful scenery out the windows or on conversations with their friends and chance-met strangers. Hardly anyone noticed the hin and half-kender, which was exactly the way Merla liked it.

Sitting at a corner table, their sponges against the wall beside Sylvie, they each had a spoon and straw to use in sharing a huge ornate glass holding an ice cream soda with many toppings, including exotic chocolate fudge and local prism nuts, with a bit of peach brandy added to it. Sylvie had put a little of the ice cream onto a saucer for Faelar to enjoy on his own while they both took spoons to the treat. Merla had to admit, the Sensates could find the best treats in the multiverse!

"Where do you think they got THIS from?" asked Merla, now in a much more pleasant mood.

"Prism nuts? From Prism Palms. The food is infused with positive energy which helps in healing, but most people here get hurt by the reefs and nearly everyone other than most elves like their reef scars, saying that they were 'tattooed by the reef.' And there are plenty of bards and clerics and healing potions to deal with the rest, so it's used more to spice up the local treats."

"And spike up the price. Five gold? That's open robbery! Though this is VERY good! But I meant the cold creamy part. And no more of your wizard talk!"

Sylvie shrugged and took another bite. "I hear it's made from the milk of rhemoraz worms."

"What's that?" asked Merla as she took another bite.

"Giant worm-like critters in the icy wastes of the far north. They can swallow a human whole."

"Hmmm," replied Merla, "sounds like a merchant's trick. You give an incredible story and it impresses people enough to either buy it or argue. If they argue, they examine the goods and soon make themselves want to own it!"

"Maybe," shrugged Sylvie. "It's a cool story."

"A really cool treat. Downright cold," smiled Merla in good spirits.

"Don't eat it too fast," said Sylvie, "I hear you can get a headache if..." Sylvie stopped speaking and her jaw dropped in shock.

"What is it?" asked Merla, as she turned her head to see what upset her friend. She somehow knew it was the male half-elf that had entered The Pearl, along with some humans, a bariaur, and a hairfoot. Merla guessed they were adventurers and not here for the gauntlet as they wore flamboyant but dirty clothes inappropriate for beachware, and they all sported weapons. She was trying to figure out what it was about the half-elf that made her know he was the cause of Sylvie's distress when she saw Sylvie jump up and approach him purposefully. "Sylvie? What about our rhemoraz milk?"

Sylvie paid Merla no mind. She clenched her fist and ranted. "Foul slug, orc-kissing slimeball! I thought you were dead, and now that I see you're not, I wish you were!"

Merla, taking another bite, saw the humans and hairfoot gingerly step around her. Even the bariaur, a centaur-like ram creature known for bravery and loyalty to friends, trotted around her, pretending not to see her and the half-elf suddenly rooted on the spot. They instinctively realized this was a personal matter, one that they didn't want to be pulled into it. Merla hoped that the half-elf didn't go for his rapier in response to Sylvie's unexpected vitriol.

And then it hit Merla. The half-elf's hair, skin, and eyes were just like Sylvie's! This must be her father! The one she said had died of a broken heart after her mother was killed by an angry Zhentish wizard on Faerun!

"Whoa, stop!" the half-elf shouted, holding his hands up. "Look, we were just ships passing in the night..."

Sylvie shrieked and pointed a finger at him, sparks starting to form. The nearby folk who were enjoying the show suddenly moved aside, fearing an immanent lightning bolt.

"Whoa, wait! Just tell me what I did, okay? Honestly, I don't remember you! You're so beautiful, if a little young looking, that I can fully imagine I was taken with your charms! I am as entranced by your beauty now as it shines through your rage! I rue that the spirits I must've drunk for causing me to forget such beauty! A sad shame it is, given how your skin shines like moonlight upon pearls! I so wish I remembered you! Here, let me sing you a song praising your beauty!"

"Filthy fiend, talent of a gully dwarf, ego of a dragon! People like your songs except for two things: their ears! You should tell another story to lull your audience to sleep with instead! Or should I give you a body of a rooster to match your character right now?"

"Hey, that's uncalled for!" shouted the half-elf, getting angry, his face flushing with blue, but not sure if he dared face her sparking finger aimed at him, fury in her eyes. "Maybe you're mistaking me for someone else?"

Merla sighed and cupped her hands over her mouth. "HEY!" she shouted. Sylvie's sparking finger went back to normal as it suddenly lowered, though she continued to glare at the half-elf, and the half-elf turned a worried look to Merla. "SHE'S YOUR DAUGHTER, DUH!" Merla then went back to eating the rhemoraz milk treat.

The half-elf turned a stunned gaze upon the girl before him. No, not a girl, a woman that looked like a girl, her kender mother giving her a childish appearance and size, with the elven blood preventing kender facial wrinkles, and human blood making her seem like she was in her early teens. Knowing that Arborea had a tendency to heighten emotions, he figured he better tread carefully, as her anger didn't need anymore heightening. "Um, Silver?"

"IT'S SYLVIE, YOU ZHENTISH BOY TOY, PALESKIN DROW!"

"That's enough," said the half-elf. "I may not be much, but I am your father." When Sylvie pointed her finger again, he held up his hands. "Look, I can explain! I had people after me! I couldn't run dragging an irrepressible half-kender child along! You'd be in even more danger than I was! PLEASE, stop pointing that finger of yours at me, okay? Let me tell you what happened, okay?"

Sylvie turned and stomped back to the table, and listlessly took another spoonful of the icy cream treat. When Faelar meowed, she absently put some more of the melting treat onto his saucer. Merla said nothing, realizing that their trip to this tourist hot spot just had gotten far more interesting in a way that she never would've predicted. Arborea was living up to its reputation for chaos and odd coincidences. _Sylvie's father alive? Is her mother alive, too?_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3: Kender Tales for Dad**

The excitement seemed over, but the tension at their table was as thick as a dragon's hide.

"So, um, this is a surprise... Sylvie." The half-elf, Panwyr Starblossom, cleared his throat nervously.

Sylvie glared at him, her arms crossed. "Why did you leave me, thinking you were dead?"

"The Zhentish wizard that disintegrated your mother, Topknot, er, Tara Farwanderer, for having the temerity to borrow some item of his from his lab in Darkhold, and then insult him when he came to torture her...well, I killed him and his escorts." He frowned. "Then I had a little too much firestone brandy, and mentioned my prowess, just to entertain the party and inspire them to resist the Zhents, you know. But some sneak spy was listening and then I was wanted, and by some powerful dark wizards. Now THERE are some orc-kissing, paleskin drow for you." He smiled nervously at her. "By the way, I like your kender topknot, Sylvie, much like your mother's. And you certainly inherited your mother's talent for insults."

"Go on," said Sylvie coldly.

"Yes, well. Being something of a bard they assumed that I was a Harper. A slow torture awaited me if they caught me. If they caught you with me, they'd torture me by torturing you and selling you into slavery, assuming you weren't sacrificed upon their black altars. So I HAD to leave you. I did you a favor leaving you with the Daisypetals in Corm Orp! They were to take you to my mother in Silverymoon. Didn't they?"

"No," said a sullen Sylvie, "they took me to the Trielta Hills and left me with the Tealeafs."

"Ah, yes, those tallfellows are friends of the family, too, as are the Honeytoes and..I forget, but our clan does business with many of them. I'm surprised that they never saw fit to return you to your clan."

"Later, some of the Tealeafs, Honeytoes, Daisypetals and other hin clans, not just tallfellows, did some traveling, and took me with them, crossing Faerun, even spending a winter holed up with gnomes in a small mountain town as orcs kept attacking. In Tethyr, I met the first planetouched, a hin air genasi. It was most exciting." Sylvie's eyes grew a bit distant with the recollection.

"I'm sure that was interesting, and a lot better a childhood than you'd have had with me."

"Just out of curiosity," piped in Merla, "did you actually see Sylvie's mother disintegrated?"

Panwyr frowned. "Yes. Well...."

"WHAT!?" asked Sylvie, her eyes widening.

"Calm down! She was insulting him and he pointed a staff at her and she vanished. No dust, but just nothing."

"So she could've been banished to Pandemonium and you just don't know? It was easier for you to just assume it wasn't your own problem anymore, drop me off with the hin, and go your merry way?"

"My way was hardly merry."

"Hey," said Merla sharply to Sylvie, "what's wrong with hin folk?"

"Nothing," said Sylvie. "All in all I'm glad I was raised by the hin rather than by the elves or the humans."

"So what's the problem?" asked a perplexed Panwyr.

"THE PROBLEM IS THAT YOU ABANDONED ME, YOU...!"

"CALM DOWN! I get it! Sheesh." When Sylvie calmed, he asked, "So you're a wizard now? How did that happen? I don't think that halflings, er hin, had any significant wizard traditions in their culture."

"I left with Amaryllis Tealeaf, my best friend of the time, to find granny in Silverymoon. She told me all that she could about kender and Krynn. She says if I ever found you, I was to kick you..."

"Yes, I know how she can be," he interrupted. "And she's one of the least annoying members of our clan. There's a reason I don't spend much time at home."

Sylvie shrugged. "She was also nice as she could be to me, as was Aunt Arvie, but I can understand how most are on the annoying side. Anyway, I learned a little magic from her and the other elves. Magic had always fascinated me, especially after I saw my gnome friends all able to cast minor cantrips but I couldn't do even that. But I was just being led along, used, and patronized for the most part. Granny Alarianna was sincere enough, but she only knew the basics of spellcraft, being more a priestess of the Fey Jester. So on her advice, I eventually left with a hin caravan and made my way to Longsaddle."

Panwyr's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "YOU apprenticed yourself to a, a HARPELL!? Are you MAD!?"

"Hey, I learned the Art from them. That's more than I can say for the Ilphustacia clan, or anyone else. They thought teaching a kender to be a wizard was madness. Besides, their recklessness is exaggerated. Sure, they're eccentric, innovative, capricious, and maybe a little to eager to experiment without bothering with safety precautions, but if they were as reckless as most people believe, there wouldn't even be a Longsaddle left next to their Ivy Mansion at all, let alone one that does a brisk trade with passing merchants, in part thanks to Harpell spells at preserving meat."

Merla silently noted that Sylvie, who called herself Starblossom in the common tongue, repeatedly referred to the elven clan that gave her the name Starblossom through the half-elf Panwyr, as Ilphustacia. Ilphu was elvish for blossom, and Stacia was elvish for star. Why did Sylvie use the common translation for the name when identifying herself but the elvish name for the clan she got the name from in the first place? Surely there was a reason for this. Sylvie almost never spoke of her clan, save for her granny whom she was fond of. She tucked the question away for later as she licked the last of the brandy-topped icy-cream soda from her spoon. Faelar lay on the table next to her elbow, staring at his wizard and her father on the other side of Merla.

Panwyr seemed to notice Faelar then and went, "If I may ask, why did you choose a black cat for a familiar? That's so... stereotypical."

Sylvie sighed in exasperation. "As it was, most people felt the very same way. If they wanted a cat for a familiar, then they wanted a gray cat, as cherished by Azuth, or a white cat, as favored by Mystra. Or they wanted a winged tressym cat. Or any cat other than black, because only someone wanting to appear evil and mysterious chose a black cat. Of course, those who ARE evil and mysterious do NOT choose a black cat, as that's what people expect. So I saw Faelar alone as his litter mates were chosen and I bonded with him, feeling kinship with him, left alone in the world. I chose him because I WANTED HIM, not because he was black or anything, which was just coincidental. And you have to admit, Faelar has hair much like our own."

"Yes, that's actually a bit spooky. I've never seen a cat with midnight blue black hair."

"He was more traditionally black at first. But as our connection deepened, his hair turned the color of my own hair. He still kept his beautiful green eyes, though they do appear a bit more elven now, don't they?"

Panwyr blinked. "You're right. I hadn't noticed until now."

"Maybe because you're a half-elven, half-human bubber," said Faelar.

"Is it my imagination," asked Panwyr, "or did your cat just say something?"

"He said you're stupid for looking down on him, given your own breeding and habits!"

"No," said Faelar, "I said he was a half-human, half-elven bubber. Oh, right. Never mind."

Panwyr frowned, deciding not to ask what Faelar just said. "So what happened next?"

"My mentor, Zanyn Harpell, wanted to see Krynn for himself. Having done some research, he found out enough about spelljamming that he thought we could get to Krynn that way."

"Spelljamming?" asked Panwyr. "Oh, yes. Ships that fly on the wings of magic that are said to travel the void between the worlds."

Sylvie nodded. "Yeah. So we haunted the piers of Waterdeep until we finally found a spelljamming vessel willing to take us. I think Maskar Wands or Khelben Arunsun was about to wish us into the phlogiston anyway, but we got lucky and found a ship. We took jobs as helmsman and explored the spheres. We got to see Krynn, too."

"So how was Krynn?"

"Overall, nice place to visit, but not a place to set up your case. I mean it was interesting enough, landing in Flotsom on an aperusa ship…"

"Aperusa?" asked Panwyr.

"They're very much like the gypsies found on many worlds, but adapted to wildspace and very hard to detect magically and it's impossible to read their minds. Interesting enough, they can't even work magic items that require an act of will because even the items can't read their intent. They're valued for their exotic beauty and charm, but distrusted as petty thieves and con artists against those they think have enough money to stand losing some, as well as being one of the few peoples of wildspace that are comfortable with kender. Overall I like them, though they're a lot more chauvinistic than I care for, and I found the male attention and female jealousy over that unwanted attention somewhat exasperating."

Panwyr blinked at that. "Okay."

"Anyway, we made it with Kirin Maptaker, a kender returning from wanderlust who wanted to bring me and Zanyn to Kendermore so he could show us off for show and tell. Then Zanyn and I, along with other kender, went on to explore two kender realms, even though that was before the draconians showed up and all, which changed things. I met the kendar at the South Pole, too, but that came later. Anyway, I loved Hylo and the surrounding lands with its fashions and sour lemon festival and hide and seek tournaments. I also loved Kendermore with its Graystone Scavenger Hunts and Wild Goatsucker chases, not to mention mooing at minotaurs passing by. Both lands were beautiful and fun, and even the political events were amusing and harmless, even if they seemed reckless. I later returned to spend some time in Bristlepatch where Mom was from, staying with her family as well as taking frequent trips to Kendermore. It was rustic, but beautiful."

"Sounds like you enjoyed yourself," said Panwyr lightly, "so why didn't you like it more?"

Sylvie shook her head. "Lots of little things, though I do miss Kendermore and Hylo. And there was only one god there, Brachala, that I liked."

Panwyr smiled. "Your mother liked Branchala, too. But my mother got her more into Erevan Ilesere."

Sylvie nodded, remembering her mom venerating the Fey Jester, but hadn't known for sure that she'd been into Branchala before. "Another thing is that the elves native to Krynn don't follow the Seldarine, but have different gods. Elven or human, I think Faerun has a much better pantheon to choose from. And when we first got there, divine magic didn't work. Not until the War of the Lance, but that came later with the draconians, whom I dislike, though not as much as sligs."

Panwyr shrugged. "Sounds more like annoyances, though I've never dealt with sligs, and I've heard almost nothing about draconians, let alone ever encounter one."

"Sligs are vicious goblinoids, the size of tall humans, with venomous spittle that hate all forms of kindness and mercy and are dedicated to wiping out all people of good hearts from Krynn. The draconians that came later are difficult to explain, but suffice to say that they're composed of various types of human-sized lizard men that have very odd deaths, like bozaks that explode when they die, or baaz that turn to stone right after death for awhile before crumbling into dust. The ones that came first were in the armies of evil, but noble ones came later. It's very weird, and if you want, I'll tell you more about it some other time."

Panwyr shrugged. "Sounds fascinating." Sylvie couldn't tell if he was being sincere or politely disinterested.

Sylvie shrugged herself and continued. "I think the thing that we both disliked the most were the Krynnish wizards that hamper their own magical abilities needlessly by tying it to the local three moons. When me and Zanyn were researching why they did that in Palanthas, he was discovered and told that he had to pass a dangerous test to be allowed to continue to work magic, as well as agree to not accept any kender, including me, as apprentices. When Zanyn refused, they declared him a rogue and sentenced him to death, but we got away, in part thanks to his amulet of nondetection. They eventually caught up with us in Hylo, but we escaped on a gnomish spelljammer, which the wizards of Krynn knew almost nothing of, though we had to hide out in Mt. Nevermind a couple of days before actually leaving Krynn. Oh, was that a fun experience!"

"I've heard so much about the gnomes there, so unlike our gnomes on Faerun, even the ones at Lantan," replied Panwyr with interest, "but never got to see them for myself. Not on Krynn anyway."

"They're right by Hylo. You should've went to see them. Zanyn loved them." She winced, remembering. "Just...the catapults were fun, but I don't think anyone who wasn't a full tinker gnome or full kender could appreciate the fun of them without some anxiety. And the bells and whistles...so many bells and whistles..." Sylvie shook her head.

Panwyr blinked. "Fun catapults?"

Sylvie laughed lightly. "They use them instead of stairs, along with complicated mechanisms involving nets and other things best not mentioned." She lost her smile and shrugged as she added, "Anyway, now that I can cast more than a handful of spells, I'm automatically a rogue to the wizards of Krynn just as Zanyn was. Luckily, few wizards believe that a kender can learn magic anyway, but I don't like living under a death threat, especially from wizards more powerful than myself. I pretend to be a lot less powerful when I'm visiting, both to avoid being declared a rogue and also so that the other kender don't annoy me too much with wanting to see and experience the more fantastic spells. But if I'm caught making anything magical other than a scroll with the simplest spells then I'm at risk of Krynnish wizards trying to destroy me."

"I've never been to Krynn. Your mother and I met in Sylvania in the Outlands. That's why she named you Sylvie, by the way, though Sylvie is a good half-elf name anyway. We married in Brightwater under a priestess of Sune, then had a kender wedding ceremony from some of the kender with her, which was quaint. Then we went to Silverymoon and had an elvish style wedding. Mother loved it, her being a priestess of the god of mischief and all. Many other elves were scandalized, though a few were curious or amused enough to take part in our wedding." He shrugged, adding, "You know our clan is more open minded than many other clans, but even some of them looked down on our ceremony and made problems. Between that and your mother and I both having wanderlust, we took off with you exploring Faerun until the unpleasant incident at Darkhold and all."

"So have you been back to see Granny since then?"

Panwyr shook his head. "No. Think what you will, Sylvie, but the death of your mother hurt. I couldn't stand to be around anyone or anything that reminded me of her not being with me. She and I were happy in Mother's company. How could I see Mother again, knowing the laughter we shared would never be shared again?"

"That's why you left me, isn't it?" asked Sylvie. "Because I reminded you of what you lost."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Me, too. I lost a dad as well as a mom."

"Look, that was a long time ago. Let's let bygones be bygones." When he saw her look of distrust, he added, "Really, I helped you in leaving you with the halflings! I had people after me and I couldn't raise you while on the run!"

Sylvie shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I've been in some tight spots myself."

"I've been thinking about you lately. I've seen so many kender. Are you their leader?"

Sylvie laughed. "No one leads the kender."

"Good point," acknowledged Panwyr. "So are they with you?"

Sylvie shrugged. "Sometimes. We know each other, and we sometimes join together for short periods of time and trade stories of our adventures. I imbued some magic into a couple of kender hoopaks as well. That's about it." She laughed as Panwyr nodded his understanding with a rueful look on his face. "I did help move some kendar, a subrace of kender, to polar regions on Faerun and Oerth..."

"Pfft," interrupted Merla, "the dowhar burned you on that one."

"No they didn't," objected Sylvie, "it's true they made a fortune, which as I recall you stole some of it, but I got to see new places, meet new people, and help ensure that if anymore cataclysms hit Krynn, which happens often enough, that they'd survive as a race."

Merla shook her head. "I didn't steal from them so much as get a fairer cut for us. You not only got them wealthy, you even manned their helm! We deserved compensation! But you're too much of a flow-brain kender to think of those things."

Sylvia huffed and replied with, "You were perfectly capable of negotiating with them yourself, rather than being a cutpurse halfling who specializes in stealing free samples!"

Merla and Sylvie glared at each other a moment and then both broke out laughing.

Mystified, Panwyr asked, "What are dohwar?"

Sylvie answered him. "They're like penguins with a talent for knowing what you're thinking and obsessed with making money."

"By selling mostly junk," cut in Merla, "including tinker gnome contraptions."

"And they don't have many who can work magic among them, so they have to hire wizards a lot, as well as guards as they don't have a strong warrior tradition either."

Merla added, "And they're too annoying to cut a deal with! No, I negotiated my own way, by simply taking a fair share once we got to Bral. They were still wealthy enough with what I left them."

"And you get onto me for starting trouble, after you stole from them, which meant you thought about it and that means they could've chanced upon your thoughts. And then on Bral you pulled me into that stupid turf war between the hin and, what was it, the Yakuza of Shou Town?"

"The Yaks robbed me as well as targeting hin in general!"

Panwyr was wondering if it was possible to drink too much when you hadn't even been drinking at all as he listened to all this talk of Yaks, mind reading merchant penguins, and spelljammers that his long lost daughter had gotten involved with. Thinking of which, he said, "Excuse me, if we're going to continue this conversation, I think I need a drink."

As Merla watched him go, she turned back to Sylvie to add, "Just a temporary problem, and it all worked out for us in the end, with quite a nice profit, funding your studies and musty tomes, and me in my more practical concerns of easy living."

Sylvie, who'd watched her father the entire trip and hadn't taken her eyes off him snorted as she saw her father gulp down a shot glass of some hard liquor before getting a mug of ale to bring back over. Glancing momentarily at Merla, she added, "Then you had to tick off the Crimson Clowns or whatever they were called, which led to more trouble."

As Panwyr sat back down sipping his ale, Merla added, "THEY started it, not me! And what about you? You turned that Cartan noble into a frog at that bath house, and scared the crap out of the other people of high birth, I swear the shrieking of men and women both didn't stop for several minutes!"

Sylvie shrugged. "Nobody saw me polymorph him, as he himself didn't want anyone to see him sexually assault what he thought was a small child just shy of reaching her teens that had been left alone by her rich merchant family passing through. I expect the others just never saw a frog before and didn't know what strange abilities it might have. It IS an asteroid devoid of such frog-friendly ecosystems, after all."

"Turning noblemen into frogs, even the slimy ones, is no way to stay unnoticed by the powers that be! You're just lucky no one realized who the frog was, or had been anyway. And then you had to go tick off The Tenth Pit AND the Chainmen by helping the POTs..."

Sylvie cut in with, "The Pragmatic Order of Thought NEEDED a wizard that didn't look like one to help, very much like how I helped the Indeps against the Hardheads, and it also got us the favor of House Moune and House Mosantas. Wow, did they ever throw some awesome parties..."

Merla continued as if Sylvie hadn't said a thing worth considering. "And then, as we're trying to keep a low profile back on Bral, you not only danced publicly with the hired excitement at that Mostantas party, who was a hotheaded aperusa as well, but we had to get off the Rock on that gnomish vessel before the prince that she spurned, and you both insulted at that party you speak of, put our heads on a pike. I lost my pillow collection because of that! And we could've gotten out through the Mage's Guild on a much saner ship, but you..."

"Prince Andru, the one YOU ticked off by stealing his signet ring for your collection while he was raging against me and Najalya, for which he blamed the 'aperusa slut and her kender cohort' since he didn't even notice you as you were in front of us when he used his Locate Object spell to find it, has a pet wizard there as well as dabbling himself! So I couldn't go through there..."

"And then you had to steal that autognome..."

"I did NOT, he malfunctioned and mistook me for his master, or at least another gnome, and started following me around. Seriously, just because I had him and the owner didn't know it doesn't mean I stole him!"

"Stole him, probably with some Charm Golem spell or something," insisted Merla.

"Hey, now THERE'S an idea for a spell!" Sylvie's eyes showed she was thinking as she added, "Though a more general Charm Construct spell would be more useful..."

"Don't try changing the subject, Sylvie Starblossom! Unlike me, you got caught at it and tried using lame kender excuses! We were lucky not to be planked!"

Sylvie rolled her eyes at her friends melodrama. "Gizmo helped to clear me, and the autognome's owner was fascinated by the malfunction, so he was glad it happened."

Merla rolled her eyes in return as she replied with, "The owner was another addle-coved tinker gnome, and Gizmo was another flow-brained half-kender, and half-tinker to boot!"

Panwyr's eyes widened. "A tinker gnome and kender had children?"

"Just one," said Sylvie. "They were marooned on a planet together and the tinker gnome gave birth to Gizmo--that's his very short name--who would be raised on Mt. Nevermind by his mother before he started his experiments in the phlogiston. He was obsessed with dweomerfusion, phlogometers, and other contraptions. But much stronger on theory than practical application."

"Like all tinker gnomes, if you ask me," put in Merla, "and both of you had little sense. You a wizard learning your craft and him a brilliant inventor for a tinker gnome, and it took ME to save both your lives at Crescent in Heartspace from the vigilante scavver-fodder."

Sylvie snorted, saying, "The way I remember it, I put them down with a Sleep and Color Spray spell. And they were in a foul mood because while Gizmo and I were doing research at the library, you got bored and picked their pockets."

"Because I knew those groundlings meant offworlders trouble and I wanted to make sure they didn't have the means to attack traveling sages that wore too colorful clothing. I distracted them so you'd have time to cast your second spell, too. And then I used what I got from them to bribe the captain to depart with us early. Journeying with you has been harrowing, to say the least, given your typical kender sense."

"If you thought those journeys were something, you should've gone with me on that voyage from Lirak's Cube, with a crew that was almost all tinker gnomes, with a couple of other kender, some hurwaeti..." She paused and looked to Panwyr. "The hurwaeti, also known as 'wiggles,' are frog-like humanoids that have an innate magical ability to generate a fog cloud once a day, which effectively refreshes the air in a spelljammer's air envelope, which is very useful on long voyages." Then turning back to Merla, she continued, "All that, myself, Zanyn, and a Celestian priest. THAT was an interesting voyage, especially when our entire vessel got sucked into Acheron during a dweomerfusion experiment gone wrong and we had to dodge giant flying cubes! Plus that infestation of rust monsters that were rusting all the gears to eat them until we finally had to abandon ship! That was my first time out on the outer planes. Those of us who made it back, including Zanyn, were declared heroes on Ironpiece, with tinkers asking us to detail every event over and over again."

"Bah," replied Merla, "I've been to Ironpiece once already and see no reason to return unless I want to have another go at trying to figure out which were worst, the exploding steam trolleys or trolleys pulled by giant hin-eating hamsters, which I don't, and I see no need to go to Lirak's Cube even once. Don't they have a giant stellar dragon that wakes up to gobble down planets there?"

"He only wakes up every few decades, and you should try asking him questions while he's asleep because he'll sometimes answer you without even waking up!"

Merla put up a hand. "I think, and therefore I don't think so."

"It's not like he eats his OWN planet!"

"I'm sorry," interrupted Panwyr, "but am I a lot drunker than I think? Because this conversation is making less and less sense."

"Maybe if you traveled more while sober you'd have picked up enough context to understand what we're talking about," said Sylvie.

"Please," replied Panwyr, "I've traveled the Planes as well as my own world, crashed a few gates, and have had adventures enough of my own. Have you ever escaped from the 8th Pit?"

"No," said Sylvie, "but we gave the kytons of Jangling Hiter the laugh twice over. And we've both banged around a little in the Abyss..."

Merla, who'd started frowning as she recalled the horror they'd found in Jangling Hiter's prison, as well as the hellish humanoids wrapped in magical spiked chains and the ability to control other such chains that their city in the 3rd Pit of Baator was made out of, blanched. "I still have nightmares about those fiendish dinosaurs! Portal to Zelatar indeed!" She actually shivered in the very warm tavern. "Never again," she muttered to herself, almost inaudibly. Even Zelatar in Azzagrat, though it had riches aplenty for the taking, wasn't worth ever going back to.

Panwyr then asked, "Have you been to any of the kender realms here in Arborea or Ysgard?"

"Both planes," said Sylvie, "and another on the Outlands with mixed races that include kender which seems to move on its own at random, without the moral or ethical alignments or any other philosophy affecting it at all as far as I can tell. I've studied it but I can't figure out how it works."

Panwyr finished his ale and asked, "So you're a successful wizard now?"

"Yeah," said Sylvie. "I make a bit of money at mage fairs. I craft pans that heat themselves, brooms that sweep by themselves, mops that dampen and mop, cups that can heat or chill any drink put into them, as well as flavor them, and then clean themselves afterward. I even make self-repairing, self-cleaning clothing. And scrolls and potions, too, but any self-respecting wizard can make those, and so I don't make much there. And I just learned to enchant weapons as well, but I can only make moderately powerful ones so far. I have an enchanted Sithak, a kender weapon, being held by a trusted friend while I'm here at the Gauntlet in White Sands."

"Kender weapon, you say? I'd love to see that. I don't think your mother had a sithak. She had a hoopak, which was a combination staff and sling. She'd also spin it in a circle and it would make some eerie, and even hauntingly beautiful, tunes. Then there was her bollik, a belt with these metal balls, that could be used as a flail or thrown as a bola--or also spun for music, with a noise more high pitched than that of a hoopak. Another one was a sashik, that she used as a whip, sash, or a musical shaking stick as it pleased her. Her whippik could be used as a riding whip, for throwing darts, or as a stringed instrument." He smiled sadly in reminiscence, and Sylvie saw that he really did love her mom, loved her still.

"A sithak is a bow," she replied softly, "and has a scythe blade on either end. I'm a pretty good shot with the bow, too. And it also makes a decent stringed instrument. I've even made some fast money playing it as an instrument. But not as much as from my singing & dancing. And definitely not as much from the magical trinkets I make."

Panwyr shifted. "Um, since we're reconciled and all, and have stressed the importance of family loyalty, could I get a small loan from you?" As Sylvie's eyes darkened, he added quickly, "I have incurred some debts in Tymora's Quarter in Brightwater just before I came here. If I don't pay it soon, I'll have to leave, and won't have the time to share a few of my own adventures with you!"

"Having gambled away your own shirt, you now want to gamble away mine?"

"Not at all! I'll pay you back in time. I'm always up and doing...."

"Up to conning and screwing everybody you can!"

"No need to be unpleasant about this. You know you've got a mouth not all that different from your mother. Something I enjoyed, except when she directed it at me. Too bad you inherited her tendency to be infuriating."

"Yeah?" asked Sylvie in bad humor, "well, I get it from both sides of my family."

As Sylvie and Panwyr tried to read each other, the tavern door came open and several armored soldiers came in. Sylvie's face paled and took on a look of disgust as she saw they were Harmonium troops.

"What's this?" asked Panwyr with some concern.

"Hardheads," muttered Sylvie angrily. "I wouldn't wish them even on you. I might wish them on the Zhentarim, or I might wish the Zhentarim on the Harmonium. I'm not sure which I hate more."

"Oh, I've met them before. Hardheads are annoying and best avoided, but not evil, at least not since Faith took over."

"Did you see their 'reeducation camps' in Arcadia?"

"What? No!"

"Trust me, they ARE evil."

The lead Hardhead spoke up. "Good people of White Sands," sounding as if he didn't really believe there were any good people that would choose to come here, "I am here to inform you that your dangerous contest of defying death now has some rules. No one under the age of 21 is allowed to participate in the Gauntlet surfing and sponging contests." Several shouts of annoyance sounded and he raised his hands as the other Harmonium pulled their swords, temporarily quieting people. "Trust me when I say this is for your own collective and harmonious good!"

"Like those reeducation camps in Arcadia, now in Mechanus!?" asked an angry Sylvie. "There's a reason the Harmonium's name begins with 'Harm'!"

"Sylvie, hush!" gritted out Merla in a harsh whisper.

"I agree with Merla," hissed Faelar, "hush!"

The Hardheads all now glared angrily at Sylvie. The leader marched up to their table. "I'm Measure Two Tyrm. What would a child like you know about anything happening in Arcadia?"

"Nothing," said Merla, "she's just a child that pretends to know things she doesn't, based on things she's heard. I fully intend to spank her for her outburst later."

"Ignore her," said Sylvie. "I saw what you did to those elves, bariaur, pixies, and kender! You're a monster, and the multiverse cries out that you belong in the lower planes with the other fiends, which is why most of your camps were taken from Arcadia!"

"I ask again, how would you know anything about that?"

"'Cause I helped liberate some of those poor souls you stole. From Arcadia and Mechanus both, you Baatorian wannabe slimebucket."

"You admit to terrorist activities against the Harmonium?"

"Do you admit to acts of genocide against the elves, gnomes, and pixies of the Harmonium's world of origin known as Ortho?"

Panwyr interrupted them. "She admits to no such thing. As her halfling nanny says, she's a child that fancies herself having experiences she's never had."

"I wonder," said Measure Tyrm. "We'll talk again, you and I. And you, and you," added Measure Tyrm, pointing at Merla and Panwyr. "Don't go anywhere. Enjoy the Gauntlet. Except for you, child, as you're under 21." He did not stop staring at her, memorizing everything about her, until he rejoined his men. Then they departed, and the locals begain swearing furiously, at least one demanding that the school that taught dueling and swashbuckling do something about this new menace here to spoil their fun.

"That was stupid," said Panwyr.

"Really, but that's Hardheads for you," replied Sylvie.

"No, I mean your antagonizing them that way. You'll hit the blinds for sure doing that!"

"They're evil," replied Sylvie.

"So are the Zhentarim. Look what happened to your mother when she gave them lip like you just gave those Hardheads."

"Concern?" asked Sylvie, with an edge of sarcasm.

"Sorry if I'm not as perfect as you," said Panwyr, a hint of anger and pain in his voice, "but I just found you and don't want to lose you as fast as I found you!"

Sylvie dropped her eyes. "Sorry. I'm still mad at those Hardheads. I mean, if the Hardheads manage to establish themselves here, White Sands will be ejected from beautiful Arborea into the Outlands, and might even be dragged all the way into their nasty realm of mindless obedience and ridiculous order, where dusk and dawn don't even exist, since everything is black or white, day or night, there! As you know, the prevailing beliefs, morals, and ethics affect the locations in the Outer Planes, and the evil the Harmonium did caused many of their prison camps to be ejected from the plane of Law with a preference for Good. And if they get control of White Sands, then this place will be torn from Arborea, and possibly dragged to their own idea of Heaven. Though what they call Heaven is what I'd call Hell!"

"I don't like the planes of law, either," replied Panwyr, "but since they've lost so much face in light of recent events, they HAVE been trying to make themselves more acceptable to the multiverse at large."

"Oh, like what they just did will help them with their PR problems!" Sylvie rolled her eyes. "And if you've seen the things I've seen them done..."

"And now you want the horrible events you witnessed to happen to you next?"

"No. I want them scribed."

Panwyr blinked, shocked at such a statement from her. To say she wanted them scribed meant into the deadbook, or what the Clueless generally referred to as dead or killed. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't like Hardheads either, but they're a sodding army. We can't defeat them, we can only get out of their way." After a moment, he said more gently, "Look, I'm here to help some people win in for awhile in the Gauntlet. Just a few minor bardic spells I know that will make it likely that Tymora will smile on us. Once I can pay off the dice hall, I'll be heading back to Brightwater. I want you to come with me. You and your friend and cat, of course."

"I'll think about it," said Sylvie.

"I really think you should come with me. Those Hardheads mean you real trouble now. I'll see you soon, Sylvie. Really." He scooted past Merla and got up to go. "But as I say, I've got a debt to pay, and my companions and I had better pull off our job before the Hardheads mess it up any worse than they already have."

"Okay."

"Okay then," said Panwyr. "Later."

"Later." They watched Panwyr depart, with his friends who had come into The Pearl with him and had their drinks at another table.

After he left, Sylvie turned to Merla. "So, you think I should trust him?"

Merla shook her head. "Better to trust a rabbit to deliver a leaf of lettuce to you unharmed than to trust a spiv like him! He not only wants something for nothing, he wants it gift wrapped. He's rolling the carpet out for you now, but he'll pull it out from under you again, mark my words!"

"Maybe he isn't so bad. I mean the Zhents really are bad news..."

"Child," said Merla sympathetically, despite the fact they were similar in age, though Merla looked to be much older, "there comes a time that you have to lift the tail of the bull and look the facts in the face."

"Ahem," went Faelar, "How about a more important question: Think we should leave before the Harmonium tries scragging us?"

"No," said Sylvie casually, "I plan to stay here and have fun, not letting them have their way. This is White Sands, outside Harmonium jurisdiction, not some Hardhead stronghold!"

"Then are you going to convince Merla to stab their Measure in the back?" Then he licked his lips. "Or even better, turn the entire lot of them into nice juicy mice for my dinner?"

"Ewww, my cat eating Harmonium meat. I don't think so. It might pollute your soul."

Faelar glared at her. "That Measure is trouble, Sylvie, and he means you ill! I can't believe you're just going to hang around having fun while he draws up a warrant for your arrest!" He rubbed his head up against Sylvie's hand as he asked, "Can't we visit Silverymoon for awhile? Even Bral would be better. I'm sure Andru has forgotten about you by now, if he's even a prince there still."

"It might be dumb," replied Sylvie nonchalantly to her familiar as she scratched behind his ears and under his chin, "but that's the plan."

"Tymora preserve us," muttered the cat as he pulled away and glared.

"I dread to ask what Faelar is saying."

"He thinks we should get out of touch for awhile before there's a warrant for my arrest."

"OUR arrest, thank you very much. You not only drew their ire to you, but to us, too."

"Sorry. I guess that was stupid of me."

"Speaking of stupid," said Merla, "I wonder what this does?" She showed a small stone block with what looked like an mithral switch on it.

"I don't know, where... oh, Merla, you didn't!"

"Got it from your daddy's pocket as he went by me. Think I'm going to trust him without knowing what he's really here for? I'd give it back, but he wandered off." She smiled and winked as she gave a typical kender response to why they had something that belonged to someone else while Sylvie put a hand to her face. Then lifting the object, she asked, "So what do you think this does?"

Sylvie focused on the object in her hand and asked, "Why don't you flick that switch and find out?"

"I'm glad to see your human side hasn't made you a complete neurotic, anymore than your elven side has made you snooty."

"I don't recall you saying that when I used that philosophy on tinker gnome inventions."

"There's a difference between taking a calculated risk and being barmy!"

"Hey, I'm half-kender," Sylvie laughed. "I believe in learning and having fun, and you can't do that when you're scared of upsetting anybody and everybody, or with your nose up in the air." She shrugged. "Besides, I'm sure it's not something that would hurt him for having touched it. He's not the self-sacrificing type."

"True enough. Okay, here goes." Merla flicked the switch. Faelar's fur stood on end and the door to The Pearl suddenly glowed blue until Merla took her finger off.

"Great Goddesses!" whispered Sylvie fiercely, "I've never seen anything like that!"

"What is it?" asked a confused Merla.

"It's a portal opener, it reveals and opens any portal without a gate key!"

"Sheela's skirts!" Merla looked around to see a few people looking at the door. She quickly hid the device and whispered, "This must be worth a fortune!"

"At least!" Sylvie's eyes widened. "Oh, dear, we just CAN'T allow the Hardheads to get their hands on this!"

"I'll keep it safe," promised Merla as she rolled it in her arm cover and knotting it shut. "So what's the dumb plan that you shared with your cat?"

"Have fun, and pretend the Harmonium aren't here to stomp on our parade. And now I have a powerful urge to rent a board and catch some waves over the Gauntlet."

"Yep, that's pretty dumb," sighed Merla. "I like your kender half, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it really worries me, too!"


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4: Harmony Isn't Always Pretty**

"Sod off, mates! I don't want no trouble!" The centaur-like bariaur's voice rose. "I ain't done anything wrong!" He backed away, his hooves hitting the cold, hard street of Sigil. He also lowered his head slightly and tensed his neck.

"The goat-boy thinks he's going to charge!" said one officer, struck between anger and laughter. "Can you believe it?"

Measure Regar didn't see anything amusing about it. "You're under arrest, goat-boy. Come with us peaceably or..."

"Why am I under arrest?" the bariaur cried, taking another step backward. One hoof hit the alley wall, and he knew that the officers had maneuvered him into a dead-end. The officer who laughed pulled his sword in case the bariaur DID charge. The bariaur glanced at him and then tried stalling with, "After all, you don't even know my name. How can I be under arrest? Where's your warrant?"

Measure Regar's lips tightened. In truth, there was no warrant. Goat-boy was heading to a rehabilitation camp in Arcadia, strictly off the books in Sigil. "You're a Free Leageur, aren't you? Or is that just a 'scar' on your scrawny butt?" The Measure pointed to the image of the dragon devouring itself shaved into the bariaur's coat.

The bariaur's hocks and rump were now tight against the sharp razorvine climbing the wall behind him, cutting him and drawing blood. Without acknowledging this, he said calmly, "I'm an Indep, yes. But why..."

Measure Regar suddenly struck the bariaur's face, and he reared on his hind legs, causing the razorvine to cut even deeper. "BECAUSE you're an Indep!" shouted Measure Regar, as the bariaur came back to ground. "Your kind's got no business here in Sigil!"

One of the bariaur's eyes was fast swelling shut, while blood trickled from his nose and rump. As Measure Tyrm and the other officers closed in, the bariaur's fist clenched as he braced for another blow from another of Sigil's finest. But the Measure spoke barely above a whisper, adding, "We're getting rid of all you weaklings--ALL of you. We're tired of you letting every cross-trading berk and his brother into the Bazaar. You're under arrest, goat-boy." Then the Measure looked over at the other patrolmen, saying, "Chain him."

The beast-man charged. He hadn't room for any kind of charge, and he was a young ram with barely any horns to speak of, but he had silver tips applied to his horns. Now the hardened edges served as wicked spikes as the bariaur cut through the officer's breastplate and punctured a lung. The patrolman cried out in pain and collapsed, frothy blood curdling from his lips.

Measure Regar's eyes flashed in rage as he saw the officer of the law brutally slain by the the evil Free Leaguer. He pulled his sword to cut the impertinent beast-man down. But the beast was faster and plunged his armoured horns into the human's soft belly. The Measure dropped his sword in astonishment that one of those liberty-loving berks was actually faster than him. Normally, they allowed themselves to be arrested thinking the courts would release them the next day, not knowing that they were heading for a prison camp after having been "disappeared" from Sigil. He grabbed at the beast's neck and fought, but the wound was mortal. Both human officer and rebellious beast-man fell to the ground.

Measure Tyrm rushed forward, drawing his sword. Just as the beast-man freed himself from the dying Measure's clutches, Officer Tyrm's blade bit into the Indep's backbone. The bariaur tried to stumble to his feet, but his hooves failed him. He fell in a crumpled heap, his spine severed, as Measure Tyrm drew out his sword and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

The beast-man stared up into the Measure's face and tried focusing his fast-dimming eyes. "You'll never break us," the beast choked, his body trembling. "Scum...we'd rather die..." The bariaur's voice faded to nothing, his eyes staring unblinkingly up at his killer.

Measure Tyrm spit. "Then die."

"No." Unbelieving, the Measure saw the bariaur stand up, alive and whole. It wasn't possible. He remembered, he KILLED the horrid beast! "I won't die. I name you murderer." The bariaur charged him.

Measure Tyrm suddenly snapped awake. He was inside a Leomund's Secure Shelter, a wizard-conjured dwelling from which he commandeered Operation Sandy Beach Head. The crashing of the surf had somehow lulled him asleep and inspired a nightmare.

What he dreamed really had happened. Only the bariaur he had killed didn't get back up. Tyrm got a medal for the slaying of the beast member of the Free League that had killed Harmonium peace officers, as well as a promotion from Measure One to Measure Two by Measure Three Romamman. Sigil had lost 2 police officers, but Tyrm had stood his ground and prevailed, bringing the multiverse closer to the cosmic harmony it was meant to have, and ensuring the lives lost by the officers of the law were not spent in vain. It was a bittersweet day, but one in which he still felt justly proud.

But the bariaur were common in Arborea, and similar planes of chaos, though only a few were here at White Sands. While most were thought to have good hearts, it didn't alter the fact that they also were possessed of chaotic hearts, spreading disorder through the multiverse. And it was as if this plane somehow sensed the heroic kills the Measure had made and was haunting him.

_Or the bariaur is haunting me._ Measure Tyrm bit his lip momentarily without being aware of it as he realized that the bariaur's soul likely became a petitioner in Arborea after being killed. It should've become one with the plane by now, but maybe there was some lingering awareness that the officer that killed it was on the plane now? It was not a pleasant thought.

A hard knock at the door was a welcome reprieve from his unpleasant reverie. "Enter," he said.

Notary Three Joryn of his command came in and saluted, and then stood at attention until Measure Tyrm gave him permission to speak. "Sir, many of our men are finding this area unpleasant." As he saw his Measure's face darken, he quickly added, "Not from a lack of discipline, sir, or even from the flagrant displays of moral wickedness that we're surrounded by, but it's as if…" He shook his head in frustration and then added, "As if this very plane is intentionally mocking our beliefs and taunting us in our dreams." He unconsciously pursed his lips as he feared his Measure's displeasure at what would seem like a breach of discipline and faith.

To his surprise, Measure Tyrm nodded. "I, too, was lulled into sleeping momentarily and had an unpleasant dream." He seemed about to say more, but then stepped over to his water pouch and poured himself a cup of water, and then poured another and handed it to Joryn.

Joryn nodded his thanks and they companionably touched their cups together, showing two men united in purpose, before drinking. "Celestian, isn't it?" The waters from the Mount, known as Mount Celestia, was said to prevent the forces of chaos and evil from infecting a lawful heart. It was even used on some chaotic prisoners in an attempt to make them more lawful.

Measure Tyrm nodded. "Arborea is perhaps the worst plane in existence because its lie is so beautiful," he said, to himself as much as to Notary Joryn. "The very plane itself infects its victims with uninhibited joy and temptations of following one's own heart and allowing others to do the same, but of course its joys lead ultimately to dissolution, and its temptations ruin Universal Harmony." Then he gulped down the rest of the Celestian water as he reflected silently on the spiritual nightmare that was Arborea.

Notary Joryn sipped his water and said, "I look around and see all these people near naked and yet not trying to rape each other or breaking out into orgies, people who laugh in happy chaos with hearts as free and pure as a child's, and an anarchy that somehow seems orderly, and it bothers me because it's as if people can live without strict laws and morals being imposed on them…"

"Drink your water, Notary!" shouted an irate Tyrm. As Joryn did so, he added, "You see the degenerate fun, but you don't see the diseases from unclean living, nor that of the loins from indiscriminate sex, the meal money lost by people gambling and drinking away their family's savings, or the addictions they carry home with them, so bar that screed." In his annoyance, he'd actually spoken in the style of Sigil, though he avoided doing so ever since his faction had been barred from The City of Doors.

Notary Joryn gulped and asked, "But if it's so bad, why do people do it? Fire's pretty, but people who are hurt by it don't touch it willingly more than once."

Measure Tyrm glared a moment, and then his look softened and grew distracted. Finally he sighed and answered, "No matter how seductive this plane is, remember always that it is a lie. It starts out beautiful, but it robs one of all discipline and invites anarchy and chaos, a world in which crops fail, disasters befall the innocent, epidemics wipe out entire communities, and wars rage as people of different visions work to bring about their own selfish desires and impulsive agendas. It is, in fact, everything the Harmonium fights to overcome. We fight for a united Universe rather than a chaotic Multiverse, for Harmony to overcome Chaos." Notary Joryn could hear the capitals in Measure Tyrm's words.

Notary Joryn nodded, and said, "I understand, and I apologize if I sounded as if I were turning stag, I mean, speaking heresy. I realize that for society to be safe, authority must be imposed. Fires kept carefully in their hearths don't burn down entire forests. People kept under close control don't wander off to become lost in the wilderness or kill each other over imagined slights. Babies watched carefully don't get eaten by shocker lizards. For everyone to get along and know what to do, they must know their place in the hierarchy and live according to the dictates of their role rather than to the whims in their hearts. It's just that some of the new recruits, mere Notary Ones, have been looking with LONGING at the people having their degenerate fun here, and at the colorful beauty that is lacking on our own plane, and I'm not sure what to tell them."

"Discipline them," replied Tyrm, "that's your job as a Notary Three. They're Harmonium troops, not addle-coved kender, bariaur, or scumbag surfers and spongers of Arborea, and I expect you to make sure they act like it. If they don't, then they need to be reformed. If you don't reform them, then YOU will need to be reformed, as well as demoted in rank, which will be performed by any of the Measures that command you."

"As it should be," answered Joryn, "and we all feel safer knowing that the Harmonium is watching our every move. But I wonder if we can't show some of the visitors here that Arborea is but a seductive lie that will ultimately destroy them? Given the power of belief on the planes, this could only help us. This plane is scandalously eccentric and nonconformist, and many visitors are downright aggressive in flaunting their individuality, shamelessly mocking conventions, mingling in a disorderly fashion. But despite this chaos, these people seem to work within their own order, one that isn't imposed by authority. It's most unnatural, and I would think that exposing it as the lie that it is should be simple to anyone who still has any wits left to use here!"

"Well-worn familiarity and conformity are obviously much preferred to novelty and individuality that challenge the collective unity. Should any be impertinent enough to ask who knows what is best for everyone, or who decides what is right and proper for everyone else to follow, you just give them the standard line, 'Do it our way or No Way. Understand that, berk?' Because the secret of the multiverse is that the Harmonium is always right. It may sound barmy at first, but you got to think: the goal of every enlightened being in the multiverse is to live in perfect harmony with everyone else. But when people don't agree, then that causes wars. And the Harmonium believes that peace is better than war. If there's peace, then a person's work won't be destroyed, families won't get killed, scholars can study, petitioners can raise their crops, and kings can actually spend their times ruling rather than warring with each other. Everybody, even the fiends on the lower planes, prospers.

"And THAT is the goal of the multiverse: Universal Harmony. But the collective harmony can only come about when everyone agrees. And the Harmonium loves peace so much that we're willing to fight for it. So if the Harmonium has to thump heads, then heads will be thumped. It's regrettable when someone has to be killed for resisting our legitimate authority, but every time someone is killed or reformed, the multiverse is that much closer to the universal harmony it was meant to have. Once everyone is in agreement with the Harmonium, then a new golden age will dawn in which everybody, even the lowliest petitioner and most foul fiend, benefits. That's why the Harmonium works so hard to get everyone to conform. It's for their own good to do as they're told, really, the greater good."

Hearing Measure Tyrm speak with such inspirational authority, a speech he'd heard and read several times already from the greater leaders and thinkers of the Harmonium, he felt the temptations to chaos leave him and he resisted an urge to salute, though he yearned to express his loyalty to the higher purpose in which he served. "Yes, sir," he said sincerely, "and as the first line in the Book of the Harmonium says, 'The multiverse has always needed someone like us.' But the thanks we often get for trying to bring peace and prosperity is to be denounced as militaristic, intolerant 'Hardheads' who oppress and even hate all others. What do we say to them?"

Measure Tyrm sneered a moment before his face relaxed. Curtly, he answered, "You tell them that the Harmonium isn't just another pathetic group that got together to rid their country of chaos and bring peace to the land. We DID it. And then to the rest of Ortho, our home world. Indeed, 'Ortho' has even become a word known for orderliness, used in such words as 'Orthodox.' And the results of peace and harmony are undeniable. It's so undeniable that to say otherwise is a capital offense."

"But as that child so boldly said to us at the tavern…"

"She's no child. Measure One Xerxes scanned the half-elven bubber's mind as he left The Pearl, and he happens to be her father. Her mother was a kender which is why, mixed with her elven blood, she appears so young. But she's an accomplished wizard, agent of chaos, and has admitted to being a terrorist working against Universal Harmony. She is no innocent child speaking of things that she does not understand."

Notary Joryn blinked and gulped. He hated going up against spellslingers, especially the chaotic ones.

Measure Tyrm cleared his throat and added, "To those who are redeemable, it is worth pointing out that on Ortho, and wherever the Harmonium rules, our wars have brought about a harmony that Arborea can only envy. It's regrettable that the wars that brought harmony to Ortho wiped out every single elf, gnome, and pixie from the planet. But critics overlook the obvious: everyone else—including dwarves, orcs, humans, beholders--all work in harmony with each other. Had the elves and fey and gnomes simply done what they were told, they too would enjoy peace and harmony on Ortho today. There's another place called Zakhara on some other world, in which elves fit into harmony with dwarves and orcs. Had Ortho's elves not been so defiant, they too would've been assimilated, and thanked the Harmonium for it."

Notary Joryn nodded, adding, "And what we were trying to do with the camps is to prevent that genocide from happening again. The Harmonium WANTS to have the races that are now too enthralled by their own personal freedoms to live in harmony with everyone else, not kill them. But it's hard to make others understand that, and they just cite worlds like Athas…"

Measure Tyrm interrupted with annoyance, "The Champions of Rajaat had a good idea, one very much like our own, but they didn't know where to stop. We do, and won't make the same mistake. Ortho is not some dying wasteland of utter savagery as Athas, and that proves it."

Notary Joryn sighed. "All the same, many in the camps did die …"

Measure Tyrm interrupted again with annoyance. "Bar that! The dark of it was that many in the reeducation camps had to be killed simply because they would not conform. Regrettable, but the group is far more important than the individual. And in light of their failure to conform, their death would have to suffice to bring the multiverse closer to the Harmonium's new Golden Age."

"Understood," replied Joryn, "but given that many were starved, beaten…"

Again, Measure Tyrm interrupted. "Disciplined, not beaten or tortured! Spare the rod, spoil the citizen. Keep in mind that those who embrace freedom, liberty, chaos, and anarchy are not only impediments to Universal Harmony, which brings about harm to the collective, but many of them are willing to murder and commit terrorist acts in the name of their selfishness, too. Like that kender-elf, who even admitted her crimes!" He shook his head in disgust before continuing more calmly, "I know they say the same about us, that we kill and oppress for our harmonious ideals, but we do so only after due process and proper judgments and paperwork that hold everyone accountable. Those who use our methods to further the cause of freedom and liberty are just thrill killers, vigilantes, and rabble rousers."

"I realize that, sir, it's just sometimes hard to explain. I wish the new Golden Age would dawn so that everyone could SEE that we really stand for harmony rather than oppression."

"Patience and perseverance, Notary Joryn," replied Measure Tyrm with more gentleness. "The Golden Age WILL dawn. Already, a few baatezu fiends and holy celestials are joining in common cause under the realization that Law is more important than distracting abstract concepts such as Good and Evil. Sure, some say that the Baatorians are fiendish 'devils' that promoted tyranny and tempted mortal races with the sins of pride and delusions of godhood, but that's only true of Baatorians that refuse Harmonium control. The devils that join us in common cause work harmoniously with paladins and even holy celestials from the Seven Heavens of Mt. Celestia. Even paladins, such as Factol Sarin, are overcoming their aversion to the fiends and working harmoniously with them. When the forces of Law have banded together completely, without regard to righteousness or wickedness, then nothing will be able to stop us from bringing about the new Golden Age of Harmony."

Notary Joryn grimaced. "Explaining how we work with devils is perhaps the hardest selling point. They're known tyrants who revel in bloodshed."

"Not those who understand Law and Harmony enough to join the Harmonium. In fact, it was a devil that suggested the camps be instituted on Arcadia so that genocide could be averted this time." Measure Tyrm shook his head ruefully, before continuing in an agitated tone. "But whatever cosmic forces were at work felt that the so-called 'evil' of the rehabilitation camps were incompatible with the goodness of Arcadia, causing those realms to shift into Mechanus. But I'm sure the dark of it was some plot by one of the chaotic factions, in which I intend to personally interrogate the kender-elf and her accomplices about once we scrag them!"

"That," replied Notary Joryn, "or the stubborn refusal of the inmates to accept universal harmony in the place of their own selfish desires caused the plane itself to shift toward what some called the 'lower planes' of 'evil.'"

Measure Tyrm nodded. "And to make up for losing ground to Mechanus, we tried to shift Fortitude into Arcadia from the Outlands by destroying what little chaos was there and imposing more order, but more freedom-minded adventurers and other riff raff interfered with us again."

"And the Faction War," added Joryn. "It was the selfish berks that started it, especially in The Fated, but people blame us for much of that, too. Even Her Serenity banned us from Sigil for our efforts to preserve the peace!"

Measure Tyrm nodded. "And now the Harmonium, under the leadership of Factol Faith, is trying to appear more palatable by emphasizing good virtues over law. That is a mistake. Our purpose is to bring about harmony, not to be popular among the degenerates!" He shook his head and added, "And it's not a direction that the devils who joined us care for. And who can blame them? The celestials need to give up their righteousness just as the devils give up their wickedness, all to promote harmony. Measure Romamman is very concerned about the Harmonium's new direction, particularly with Factol Faith's antipathy toward baatezu." He didn't dare admit to anyone, not even to himself, that he sincerely hoped Factol Faith, would meet a similar end as did her more worthy husband, and soon. Factol Sarin was a much more worthy Composer to set the metaphoric melody in which all the Harmonium danced.

Notary Joryn grimaced slightly as he thought of the Baatorian hamatula in charge of this operation, but worked to hide it. He also knew that the devil had some influence on getting Measure Tyrm promoted to his current rank, as well as handpicking Measure One Xerxes, their war wizard. He also knew that the devil was supposed to have kept an eye on Tyrm's son, since he had a rebellious side that threatened to become too much, but he'd instead snuck off to this very beach and died here. He wondered how beautiful the chaos here seemed to the kid as he died. Then he bravely added, "Measure Romamman didn't stop your son from coming here."

"He tried," said Measure Tyrm. "He warned me of Lent's growing insolence, tried to guide him since he wouldn't listen to me. And since Lent's untimely demise, he worked wonders in getting us here directly with only a minimum of time wasting procedures. If only it had been soon enough to save Lent." His eyes hardened as he said, "Lent was my first born. I won't lose anymore children to this accursed plane."

They stood in grim silence for a moment when another knock came.

"Enter," said Measure Tyrm. As an officer he knew entered and saluted, he asked as he returned the salute, "What is it, Measure Xerxes?"

"Message from HQ." She handed him a scroll sealed with wax marked by a signet ring.

Measure Tyrm took the message and opened it, hoping that his request for more reinforcements would be granted. His squadron, augmented by dwarven mercs hired in Arcadia, would do in a pinch, but they were bound to draw unwanted attention from the celestials sooner or later. Especially if it came to actual peace keeping, rather than the intimidation that they had used so far.

Reading it, he felt disappointment and betrayal. The other highups, no doubt kissing up to Factol Faith instead of being faithful to the ideals that made the Harmonium strong, feared more bad publicity and ordered him and his troops to withdraw from Arborea. He almost tore up the scroll and refused the order, no doubt an influence of Arborea upon him as he had obeyed orders for his entire life, even when he disagreed with them.

But then a ray of bright light shone through the clouds: Before leaving Arborea, he was to gather the terrorists that admitted to interfering with the lawful operations of the Harmonium. Perhaps Arborea would not be won this day, but the first blows would fall, followed by a strategic retreat... and a later return.

Looking back up to Measure Xerxes, he said, "Find who is currently watching the kender wizard and have him report to me, immediately. Then assemble the troops. We are to make some arrests, including against the wizard, and then return to Arcadia. Be prepared for resistance."

"Yes, sir," she responded with a strong voice. She was almost as eager as he was. He nodded approval and went about preparing the final details in the impending arrest of the chaotic wizard and her half-elf and halfling companions.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5: Kender Kaos**

As twilight settled in White Sands, the partying at The Crawling Crawdad came to a sudden halt when a guy ran in shouting, "Hardheads approaching! A LOT of Hardheads!" He barely got that out when the door behind him splintered open, destroyed, as if hit with a dragon's fist and knocked him down, along with several other patrons nearby. Eighteen heavily armed and armored dwarves marched in, forming two lines of nine, each holding a crossbow up in a ceremonial fashion.

A woman in purple robes trimmed with gold followed, holding a staff that glowed with eldritch energy. Behind her marched a squadron of Harmonium Hardheads in standard red field plate, most of whom remained outside as there wasn't room enough for them all to enter. Then Measure Tyrm walked past her and opened a scroll.

"Loathe as I am to spoil your festivities," said the Harmonium Measure in a toneless voice that somehow chilled them in its deadness, "I am here to perform my duty of the arrest of the half-kender wizard, Sylvie Starblossom; her father, Panwyr Starblossom; and their halfling accomplice, Merla Bramblefoot. I have here a warrant for their immediate arrest. After I have them, I will leave you to your self-destructive and shameful merriments, returning with my prisoners to Arcadia."

He glanced around the room displeased to see three duelists in the crowd glaring back at him defiantly. Others looked as if they could be trouble, too. Worst of all, there were kender in the crowd. Only a half dozen at most, but that was still far too many. Among them, he saw the half-kender, too, but didn't see her accomplices. But he'd make the kender-elf hybrid speak soon enough.

"Well, suck out my brain and call me a Harmonium Measure," shouted the brazen half-kender they had been ordered to arrest. "You're here for little ol' me? It doesn't look like you brought enough help."

"You," said Measure Tyrm, "need to come along quietly now, in order to keep anyone else in this establishment getting injured."

"Why should we give you this sacrifice?" asked one of the duelists. Many of his fellows were out in force tonight, and he was probably stalling in hopes enough would show up to challenge the Harmonium.

Measure Tyrm smiled at the futility, given the number of Harmionium troops gathered outside the tavern. Every single one of them, without exception, had been enhanced by War Wizard Sophie with her wands of stoneskin, haste, and protection from arrows. Their weapons had keen edge spells placed on them, and some were already magically enhanced. He and the wizard, along with their own weapons, had additional protections and enhancements. As long as the more powerful celestials, many of whom could dispel such enhancements at a whim, didn't get involved, then he wasn't worried about any resistance this debauched port could offer.

"Because it's the law," he stated simply.

"You ain't the law around here. At most, you're just a jacked-up bounty hunter. But even then, you have no authority here."

"Questioning my authority is a criminal offense." Measure Tyrm almost quoted the exact legal code in this case, but realized it would be lost on the degenerate.

"Shut up!"

"You do not talk to an officer of the law that way."

He drew his sword. "I challenge you..." He fell dying as several dwarven crossbow bolts pierced him. Two patrons went to help the fallen duelist, but it was obvious he was already gone without some powerful clerical magic to help. The rest were stunned at this casual brutality. About half the dwarves facing the duelist had fired. Now they reloaded as the other half aimed their crossbows into the crowd. The dwarves facing the other side of the tavern kept their eyes forward, refusing to turn around. Measure Tyrm loved dwarven military discipline.

"We see how your individual swashbucklers stand against true order. That's where my authority come from, ladies, gentlemen. Now if you will hand over the criminals..."

"Murderer!" shouted a voice, mixed with horror and outrage.

"Are ALL Hardheads as stupid as you?" Sylvie asked, with infuriating calm, petting her cat in her arms. "Oh, I'm sorry, how COULD they be?"

Measure Tyrm made a motion with a hand. Several dwarven crossbow bolts flew toward her. They all hit her and the cat, and they all fell harmlessly away leaving them both unharmed. She made a motion of her own and several spell bolts lashed out at a dwarven peace officer. Before they could hit, the purple-robed mage made a motion of her own and the spell bolts vanished before they hit their mark.

"Surrender!" shouted Measure Tyrm, using the voice he had been taught to elicit obedience. The half-kender sneered. He got the strong impression that the evil and mysterious black cat was sneering at him, too.

Another tavern patron spoke up, a mix of fear and outrage. "What makes you think this show of force authorizes you to do anything? At least the Fated are honest enough to say that anyone can do what you did. ANYONE has the authority, which is as good as saying no one has the authority. You people just don't have the authority you think you do around here. Leave, now, before the eladrins, lillend, and devas kick your self-righteous butts."

"Don't you understand?" asked Measure Tyrm. "If you're alive when I leave, it's because I allow it. So give me what I want."

"You're a murderer," said another drunkenly. "One due for a comeuppance for the evil you've dealt out here."

Measure Tyrm shook his head in amazement. If people could be this barmy, no wonder cosmic mistakes like Arborea existed! "The sooner you people realize that true order comes from imposed structure, the better off the entire multiverse will be. Strength, such as Harmonium strength, coupled with efficient leadership, such as Harmonium leadership, is necessary for peace, prosperity, and plenty for all. Even all of you will benefit from the new Golden Age the Harmonium will bring you. All you have to do is give your lives over to the Harmonium, and the multiverse will be that much closer to universal harmony!"

"Nay," responded another, his teeth gritted, but otherwise calm. "Your way stifles innovation, creativity, and individuality."

"Those traits you mention," replied the Measure disdainfully, "are a threat to our beliefs, and our beliefs are the only truth. It's better to have dedication to duty, direction, and conformity."

"The law you tout is just the supremacy of a few individuals over everyone else." added another, "The folk that live in your order are not people, they're slaves. The only ones who prosper are the ones that call themselves the government. And even they eventually suffer as everyone grows too afraid to say anything other than what their Measures want to hear. And look at you. Are you even a man? Or just an automaton that does what someone else tells you to?"

"I see my duty clearly and fulfill it."

"Get your eyes checked!" shouted one of the abominable kender.

"Now see here!" shouted Measure Tyrm, startled by the kender speaking so casually and disrespectfully, "I'm an upright officer..."

"Even your shadow is crooked!" shouted another of the wretched kender.

Measure Tyrm realized something. He was getting angry. Very, very angry. The continual insults these wretched vermin continued to heap upon him, the Harmonium, and the law grated at him, and he was going to make sure they respected the Law before he left Arborea! The kender all started to laugh then. Laughing while his son fed the fish in their decadent ocean.

Then Sylvie piped in. "Your conceit is in inverse proportion to your ability to lead or work well with others."

Measure Tyrm shook his head. _Kender wizards_, he thought with bemusement. Then his face reddened as he realized she had called him unfit to command or preserve the peace! He didn't understand why these kender insisted on making him so angry. Did they really prefer execution to rehabilitation? He recalled now that the kender imprisoned in Arcadia had mouths like that, too, almost as if they thought they could gain some advantage in making the Harmonium guards angry.

"I have been an officer of the law for over a decade you souless... KENDER!" Measure Romamman was right. Kender were the most despicable race to ever afflict the multiverse. The baatezu were right to want to exterminate them. The Harmonium should seek to do the same. But before he executed them on the spot, he wanted them to understand how great he was, just as even Baatorian fiends like Measure Romamman understood his greatness. "I rose through the ranks after years of hardship and toil, proving my loyalty and bravery time and time again! I EARNED my rank of Measure with hard work and sacrifice, which is more than a spiteful, chaotic kender like yourself could ever HOPE to achieve!"

"He's sure to be going places," remarked one of the other kender, speaking to another. "The sooner the better." The other kender, and a few of the other wretched party goers, laughed, and there was a cruel harshness in it. Laughed not at the statement, but at Measure Tyrm!

"A man of few words," replied the kender back to his friend laughing, "but I sure wish he'd stop repeating them!"

"Yeah," answered the first kender back, "he got it TRITE the first time." More laughter followed, heavier and a little harsh, dispelling any respect for the law that these decadent sinners might've had. The laughter grew to a roar, even as one of their precious duelist lay dead, and the weapons that killed him were now trained on the lot of them.

Measure Tyrm was momentarily stunned. He knew that kender did not ever experience fear, at least not like most sentients, and was probably the reason why they could not be rehabilitated. Remembering the ones in the camps, he should've expected the kender here to be snarky and glib as well, even after a show of deadly force, but now the OTHER patrons were beginning to laugh along WITH the kender. At him and the Harmonium!

He shook his head absently as he wondered if Arborea had addled their senses or if their addled senses created Arborea through their addle-coved beliefs. He was aware that those who lived here long enough were capricious, laughing at death and throwing their lives away on foolish quests for nothing more than glory or even a lark, but one of their precious duelists was DEAD, and it was only his mercy (more specifically that such action would not be sanctioned by the high ups) that kept the rest of them from also joining the defiant duelist in death. Obviously none here were close to the duelist or they'd throw their lives away in a futile attempt to gain vengeance. And being tourists, Arborea wouldn't have had time to truly warp their souls and minds yet, so they should be showing more respect, or at least fear.

Then again, maybe it was his disciplined troops that made them just fearful enough to not attack, but still willing to laugh along with the kender vermin. Or maybe their insanity was caused by the foul smelling liquors and other intoxicants he could smell. Whatever it was, it was not only frustrating and incomprehensible to an upright basher such as himself, but infuriating.

His musing was interrupted as he saw the evil kender wizard grin an evil grin that promised defiant depravity and willful deviance. Turning her face away from him to address the other kender, she said, "He's only dull and uninteresting until after you get to know him. But after that, he's just plain boring."

A laughing kender added, "Wait, wait! We shouldn't be TOO harsh on him though. If YOU were even uglier and dumber than a gully dwarf, what would you do?"

"JOIN THE HARMONIUM!" the kender, including the wizard, shouted as one.

Measure Tyrm's face grew redder with restrained fury. Measure Romamman had explained to him what a gully dwarf was, the first time a kender had called him one. They were so stupid they could rarely count past two and even uglier than they were stupid, as well as eating the lice that infested their hair. That kender, and all others after him, got a severe beating, and not all of them survived it.

Then Sylvie looked to her familiar that meowed loudly in her arms as it watched him with watchful, predatory eyes. Then she looked back up to him and told him, "And Faelar says that so many rat droppings fall out of your mouth when you speak that he'd like a chance to see if he can catch the rat hiding inside you." This inspired even greater mirth among the kender and other patrons of the bar.

"SEIZE HER!" shouted Measure Tyrm, who would be bedeviled by these pointy-eared rogues no longer. "And her little cat, too!" Being insulted by the kender was outrageous enough, but damn if he were going to allow their pet cats start insulting him, too! Then drawing his sword, he went to administer justice and bring the rule of law to this debauched and decadent island of anarchists himself.

Unfortunately, this wasn't Arcadia where people complied with the law, even when they disagreed with it. Several, many of them tourists, drew their weapons, and the rest threw bottles and chairs at the peace officers. Several dwarven crossbow bolts answered the resistance, hitting with deadly accuracy. A few ran or tried to hide after that, but most were still ready for a fight. Measure Tyrm himself had to duck a mug that one of the wretched kender just shot at him from a sling atop his exotic staff.

"BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, EXECUTE THE WARRANT!" commanded the Measure. The half-kender and her cat jumped over the bar. He led the way to the demon child's hideaway, his wizard beside him ready to counterspell any attack the kender perpetrated against his notaries.

But Sylvie didn't see any of that. The half-kender they saw was a magical figment of her while her real self was hidden by an invisibility glamour. She cast the spell when she realized that the Hardheads, particularly their tamed attack wizard, wouldn't be able to notice her somatic component used to trigger it. Of course the kender taunts, a form of psychological warfare that came naturally to kender being threatened, helped to enrage them all to the point that they wouldn't be as likely to notice, which also helped.

She quickly found the invisible Merla, using her See Invisible spell. Merla had hid the moment she heard the word "Hardhead" and had drunk the invisibility potion from behind an upturned table right after the door had been destroyed. She had a much stronger self-preservation instinct than Sylvie. Now she wore spectacles that allowed her to see the invisible Sylvie. Sylvie joined her and opened a dimensional doorway out of the chaos created by the Harmonium and stepped outside the tavern, both glad they'd taken such a precaution to equip Merla so before surfing the Gauntlet.

They came out of the dimension door midst several Harmonium. Luckily, both hin and half-kender were adept at moving silently and made their way past them. Since the Hardheads were focused on the pandemonium inside, including a dwarf just tossed through the window, they didn't see the marks in the sand showing the passing of little feet.

The two saw several swashbuckling duelists rushing to the scene, and some elven warriors as well. Merla sighed that such daring was noble, but also stupid considering the number of Hardheads there. They kept going until they were a good distance away. Just in time to see the Measure Tyrm and his wizard come out. By the look on their faces, they had figured out what happened.

_And people say I'm dumb for focusing on illusions over evocations, _sniffed Sylvie. Spells like the one she had just cast had saved her life many a times, whereas fireballs would've just gotten her killed.

They saw the wizard set a duelist on fire with a burning hands spell, and the Measure run another through after the duelists sword was turned aside from his face. The Measure had a stoneskin spell in place, too. They continued to run.

"Wait," said Merla, "let me try the gate thingamajig."

"I don't think there are any portals out here."

"Let me try." She did. Glowing blue sparks showed underneath the canopy of two prism palms, the gate flickering even brighter than the dull glow of prismatic light against the last of the dusk's light, or of the stars just starting to appear. Unfortunately, the Measure and wizard saw it too and ran towards them. With a spell in place that made them run VERY fast.

Hissing in frustration, the two ran on. Merla was slower and Sylvie refused to leave her behind. But then she had to carry the cat, too, for the time being. She wasn't sure if they were going to make it to the portal in time or not.

Then her father showed up on a flying carpet, passing them and slowing down. "Need a ride?"

"YES!" shouted Sylvie, "thank you!"

"By the way," he replied, "I lost something earlier today. I'm hoping you might know where it is?"

The half-kender responded, "You mean your multiversal gate key?"

He sighed. "You are such a kender. Climb aboard then. I hope you have it with you."

"I don't know, let me consult with my friends." Turning quickly, she asked, "Do we trust him or not?"

"Go with your father!" shouted Faelar. "He may be a wandering Tom, but he's far better company than what we have behind us!"

"Faylar says we should go with Dad," Sylvie told Merla. "But remember what you said about him pulling away the carpet from under our feet?"

"Let me on the carpet!" she said. As the hin, half-kender, and cat joined Panwyr, she added, "Time to be headed elsewhere."

They flew to the portal and went elsewhere, the gate closing firmly behind them, useless without the proper key.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: There Will Be Hell to Pay**

"Give me liberty, or give me death!" shouted another duelist. Measure Tyrm obliged him with a sword thrust into the rogue's belly. Drawing his sword and letting the criminal fall to die, he sought out the kender wizard. Or any kender, but especially her. He found her cowering behind the bar and took vicious satisfaction in her fear of justice. But when he grabbed her, she vanished.

"Misleading spell!" shouted the war wizard Measure One, now beside him. "She turned invisible and ran away, probably using a dimension door!" As Measure Tyrm's face darkened, she quickly added, "Here, drink this potion, it will allow you to see the invisible." As he quaffed it, she cast her own spell to allow her to do the same.

They pushed their way through the deadly brawl to the tavern door, and through Sophie's divination magic, he and the wizard were able to see the fleeing fugitives. "There!" he shouted.

But the disorder was growing, and he had to leave his men here. He dispatched several degenerates himself as he ran but came to a dead stop when he saw someone he recognized. "Lent Tyrm," he gasped, stunned. To his horror, his son was with a disgraceful half-elf seductress.

"It's Lenny!" his son shouted back, "and who are you, bub?"

Measure Tyrm realized Lent had never seen him acting in his role as a law enforcer, especially not covered in the blood of rogues, but he seemed drunk, or possibly enchanted, too. There was an odd scent about him and he noticed that his eyes were bloodshot red, a sign that he'd been smoking something illegal. He noted then the half-elf that fearfully clung to him tightly also showed signs of such intoxication. A half-elf? The way she was dressed, she was obviously one of those nymphs that stole a man's memory. Also, she looked like an Arborean scumbag surfer.

Then the horror of the situation struck him. His son was a petitioner here on the island! Arborea had not only murdered his body, but had stolen his soul as well as deprived him of his memories! Now he was doomed to become one with these chaotic lands, living on in its false promises of freedom and joy forever.

He lifted his sword to end the existence of his son's dead echo before his soul could become so entrapped. The scantily-clad half-elf temptress screamed as he buried his sword in Lenny's belly. To his surprise, the petitioner bled more like a mortal than the echo of a dead soul not yet fully at one with the plane.

The half-elf punched him in the throat, but he barely felt it due to the stoneskin spell his wizard had put on him. Drawing forth his sword, he raised it to execute justice upon the shameless half-elf trollop, but his sword was instantly met by an angelic deva's mace.

Cursing, knowing he was no match for a one-on-one fight with a deva, he retreated with the magically-enhanced speed given to him recently by the wizard, trying to catch the kender-elf. He only hoped his son's soul would be destroyed before it could fully merge with this evil realm.

But when he was not pursued, he turned and cursed again as he saw Lenny sit up, healed, the half-elf hugging him possessively. The astral deva, standing over seven feet tall and inhumanly beautiful within a nimbus of light, turned to the Harmonium Measure sternly, but then looked back to where the Harmonium troops were trying to establish order in the town itself. The deva chose to fight for the town instead of pursuing him. Tactically, it made sense. Should the Harmonium get the upper hand, White Sands would likely be ejected from Arborea, away from where the celestials could help them. Plus, the devas were said to be hard pressed to ignore the suffering and dying, and plenty of that was going on in the growing battle at White Sands.

Fine, he would gladly take out his ire and horror on the terrorists he pursued. They would pay for stealing his son's body and soul from him, in addition to their other crimes. Then he saw the two fugitives join the third fugitive on a flying carpet and speed through a portal. He stopped, stunned at this turn of events. _I hate Arborea_, he thought.

Then his war wizard called out to him, interrupting his thoughts. "We can't hold! We must signal the retreat."

Measure Tyrm turned a grim gaze back toward White Sands, and saw that the Harmonium troops were fighting a losing battle. They were not only fighting several of the swashbuckling duelists, but also elven arcane archers that were now taking out peace officers with enchanted arrows that were more deadly than the dwarf-crafted crossbow bolts and pierced the magical armor of the dwarven elite units.

Even more demoralizing, a furious ghaele eladrin with glowing eyes and wild violet hair, looking much like a terrifying celestial elf scantily-dressed and covered in tribal tattoos, was now singlehandedly cutting a bloody swathe through his troops with a glowing greatsword wielded with such alacrity that her movements were more of a blur. She stopped long enough to point at one of the several dwarves charging her, releasing an innate lightning bolt that hit him and then began jumping to other dwarves. Most dwarves, clad in their metal armor, hit fell in a smoking heap.

He could see that other eladrin looking very much like noble elven knights on wingless flying horses and wearing glowing armor were also about to join the fray, visible despite the night that had fallen. Some of his officers ran, their magical protections and enhancements dispelled by the will of the celestials, and perhaps afflicted by magical fear. Many of them were quickly taken down by elves, duelists, and common adventurers. Another officer was incinerated by yet another type of eladrin that appeared on the scene, one that seemed to be partially composed of flame. Another officer was swept away by an angry djinni, in the form of a whirlwind.

He stared in horror as several of his troops got back to back. The deva that had prevented his son's salvation appeared above them and spoke a word that sent pain through all of them. Then flying and teleporting all around them, he bashed open the heads of nearly every single one with its mace in less time than it took for most of the doomed to take a breath. Three managed to get away, but two of them were grabbed in the serpantine coils of winged lillends that swooped down from the sky, and were then dragged off screaming into the air where they were crushed and dropped. The one officer left looked up in horror before another glowing elven arrow took him through the throat. The arrow released a fireball, incinerating him.

For those who thought Arborea's celestials were holy and good, he wished they could see this scene being seared into his brain: of Harmonium notaries, faithful peace officers and soldiers dedicated to universal harmony, being massacred by these "holy" agents of chaos and disorder. They were no better than the chaotic evil demons known as tanar'ri! He would need more troops to hold the beach, and he knew that was something he did not have. If only they could've gotten White Sands ejected from Arborea before the celestials got involved! But it was too late for that now.

He nodded to his wizard grimly, full of hatred for all kender. "Signal the retreat." But they both already knew that it was too late for those still on the battlefield. And more than anything, he wanted to live long enough to bury his sword in that cursed kender wizard that mocked him so, and boldly admitted to being a terrorist that worked against Universal Harmony!

Measure Tyrm pulled a magical cube out and used it to open a portal that would take him and Measure One Sophia Xerxes back to his post in Arcadia. As soon as the other troops saw and heard the fireball flare from the wand wielded by Measure One Xerxes, they would know they were to pull back. If they could. Those brave officers of the law that fell to the chaotic celestials would be avenged. This, he swore.

In his office, he saw Measure Romamman waiting for him. "Your son?" his Baatorian friend asked.

"I could not find the body," he returned coldly. "Gods, Measure Three," murmured Measure Tyrm in grief, "my son is a petitioner there! I tried to kill his soul before it could be assimilated, but a deva stopped me. Then it fully healed his soul and went on to foil my men who were trying to establish law and order and create a beachhead in Arborea. I'm sorry I failed. I failed my son, and more importantly, I failed you."

"This is indeed troubling," replied the fiend, who suddenly regretted using his powers of suggestion to make the boy go. He'd arranged for the human to be killed, of course, but he had expected his soul to return to the lawful planes as a petitioner, where he had intended to claim it for Baator. Since the boy was there on baatezu business, even if he didn't know it, he was technically the property of the devils of Baator.

"What will happen to him?" asked the Measure, a mix of grief and horror in his voice.

Measure Romamman didn't answer until the Measure looked him straight in the eye. In an ominous voice, he told him, "Your son is now doomed to the wild chaos of Arborea, lost to you and the Universal Harmony to come. It may so happen that he will disintegrate, as the white sands of Pelion do, or he may become an eladrin warrior or an Aborean deva himself, forever fighting against the universal harmony our faction promotes. THAT is what Arborea does to the souls it ensnares."

"Gods," replied Measure Tyrm in a low voice, "forgive me, Lent."

Measure Romamman's voice seemed to become more sympathetic and inspiring. "Put thoughts of self-blame out of your mind, Measure Two. Justice delayed is not justice thwarted, and this tragic incident is NOT your fault. You and I shall help the Harmonium put an end to the villainy that creates Arborea!"

"I have faith that your wisdom will be realized by our leaders," returned Measure Tyrm. "But you were right about the other Measures refusing to aid us in Arborea. Yet they do want the terrorists that busted out prisoners from our reeducation centers."

"Any losses in Arborea?" asked Measure Romamman.

Measure Tyrm nodded. "It wasn't a route or a retreat. It was a massacre. Many good men died at the hands of anarchists and rogues, and the celestials that give them sanctuary. It's entirely possible that Measure One Sophia Xerxes and I will be the only survivors."

Measure Romamman looked almost as shocked as he did. "Do not grieve for the sacrifices of your troops, Measure. They shall be avenged. With the deaths of so many notaries at the hand of Arborean celestials, the misguided highups in our esteemed organization will realize the folly of choosing to fight for the forces of Good over the forces of Law. No Harmonium Measure would ever side with the forces that are friends and allies to those who massacre our troops." Thanks to his excellent self control, Measure Romamman did not smile at how beautifully this had worked out. Factol Faith might even forget her purge against those with evil hearts completely and focus on Arborea. And if this continued to play out the way it looked it would, then he might even get a promotion in Baator for this!

Measure Tyrm gritted harshly, "Until then, I want that hideous kender's head on a pike!"

Measure Romamman nodded in understanding. He'd have to send an agent to study the situation with the Measure Two's son more closely, which would be difficult on Arborea. Also, Measure Three Romamman knew, the Measure Two had accomplished exactly what the baatezu had hoped, if not openly expressed. But he hid his smile and satisfaction for now, as it was time to calibrate the Measure Two for the next task at hand. "The hierarchy of Baator has determined that the kender must die, sparing none. While I think most of my kindred are too blinded by Evil to see the benefit of joining with the Harmonium, I do believe that they are right about the kender. After all, you yourself have seen the kender in reeducation camps, have you not?"

"Indeed," he returned. "Those that didn't die on their own had to be executed. Or they escaped, often with the aid of agents of chaos. Not a single one could be rehabilitated, despite all that we did for them!"

"Yes," replied the Baatorian devil, almost in a whisper, hoping to encourage hatred of the kender in this human to the point of corrupting his soul with evil entirely. He seemed to blame this kender wizard for what happened to his son, and he was all too happy to fan THAT hatred. "The kender must all die. And Arborea must be destroyed for housing them and the celestials that attacked Harmonium officers going about their lawful duty. And for stealing the soul of your son, before they can steal and subvert the soul of anyone else's child. Or anymore of your own children."

Measure Tyrm nodded his head emphatically. "But first I want that kender wizard!"

"What do you know of where she went?"

He shook his head. "Not much. Magical and mundane reconnaissance say that the half-elf who helped her escape was her father, but that they were estranged. He also said that the kender-elf had only been with the halfling the rest of their time in White Sands, and added that she defied our age restrictions and participated in the Gauntlet surfing tournament. When he reported to me last, he didn't know where the father was, only that he is a dissolute rogue and bubber."

"Do you think he taught his kender child to be a wizard?"

"Negative," replied Measure Tyrm. "He's not a wizard himself, though he knows a few bardic spells and was able to see his child and halfling accomplice despite their being invisible. I don't know how his kender daughter ever became a wizard."

"Are you sure they're father and daughter instead of being related some other way? Age is very hard to tell with elves."

"War Wizard Xerxes reported he was her father after doing a mindscan of the suspect. And there's a resemblance there. One of the first things I noticed is that they have the same hair and complexion, which is part of why I thought she really might be a child too young to have participated in the terrorist acts she bragged about. And according to the man I dispatched to observe them, they both have elven blue eyes with golden flecks in them, 'like the sun reflecting off blue waters'." He shook his head at the poetics.

"Moon elf blood," murmured Measure Three Romamman. "Not too common. And kender wizards are almost unheard of, though whether that is a racial trait or just becaues few would be barmy enough to teach them magic anyway is open to debate. But magic comes easy enough to elves, so perhaps some talent was inherited by the half-kender from her half-elf father, even if he didn't teach her himself. But I don't know of any moon elves on Krynn, or of kender native to any other world than Krynn." He shook his head. "But both moon elves and kender are known for their wanderlust, so she gets the urge to travel from both sides of her family." Measure Ramamman had to admit to himself that this disgusted him. The kender and the moon elves were both going to be difficult to eradicate, despite their relatively few numbers, because of this. But that was a mission for another day, so he put it firmly out of mind and focused on the present.

"The half-elf is from Faerun," added Measure Tyrm. "He's said to have family in a city called Silverymoon, though he's a wandering rogue himself, much like the kender wizard. The kender wizard is said to be a planar wanderer herself, and even manned spelljamming vessels early in her wizard career. I don't know if she was born on Faerun or Krynn or elsewhere. Of the halfling accomplice, Merla Bramblefoot, even less is known, except that she's a friend of the halfling Winny in Brightwater, the priestess of Tymora, goddess of rogues and luck. Beyond that, I know little, and have no idea what bolt hole or sanctuary that they might've fled to." He shook his head in frustration at the foiled justice and his own thwarted blood lust.

"Patience, Measure Two," said Measure Romamman soothingly. "I shall have an APB out on the terrorists, and every Harmonium officer will keep a peery eye out for them. I will send agents to talk to the halfling Winifred in Brightwater. Meanwhile, I have a paladin and cleric of Helm in my command, along with a Cormyrian war wizard, all three Measure Ones from Faerun. Along with these three you shall take a squadron of officers I assign you, and begin your search in Faerun for these terrorists, starting in Silverymoon. Even if they aren't there, it will likely do you good to familiarize yourself with their world, and perhaps interrogate relatives of theirs living there."

Measure Two Tyrm locked eyes with his Baatorian superior with intense gratitude and lust for the terrorists in his custody or on his sword, grateful to be doing this important work for the Harmonium. "The Golden Age will come," he said, "and we'll all stand proud."

"Indeed we will," said Measure Three Romamman, glowing with pride and self-satisfaction, inspiring the same in Measure Tyrm. "Go get your rest, Measure Two. You've earned it and I'll be assigning you to lead this mission personally."

The Measure Two saluted his superior officer, with a mix of pride of serving the Harmonium and the desire to see the terrorists in chains before him or dying on his sword for resisting arrest. Perhaps afterward, he'd go to this world called Krynn and put all kender to the sword, to make sure an incident like this could never happen again. He left then to take his rest, dreaming of putting cosmic mistakes, like kender, bariaur, and elves, to the sword as a cleansing prelude to the new Golden Age that would soon dawn for all the multiverse, thanks to Harmonium officers such as Measure Romamman. _Soon_, he told himself, hoping the anticipation would not prevent a restful night's sleep.

As he left, he did not see the terrifying smile Measure Romamman of the Harmonium finally allowed himself as he watched Measure Tyrm depart, reveling in the growing obsessive hatred he saw in the officer's soul. _The kenderling and her companions may be yours, Measure Two, but your soul is now MINE!_


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: The Dark of It**

Merla shouted in surprise as she landed on a beach, and cried out again as the surf crashed over her feet. She felt a mixture of relief and resentment as she saw Sylvie holding Faelar and her father float gently down. "Where'd the carpet go?"

"Good question," answered Sylvie as she landed.

"You don't realize what it is you took from me, are you?" asked Panwyr.

"Pike it!" said an aggravated Merla. "Sylvie is more of a well-lanned blood than a leatherheaded spiv like you could ever be!"

"Merla!" shouted Sylvie. "That's enough!" When Merla crossed her arms and raised her brows, she added, "If you must insult him, at least be more creative." She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Merla trying not to smile. "First thing," she said, "is to find out where we are." She looked around, putting up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun which was especially painful on the eyes given that they'd just left an area where it was night, and seeing the coconut palm trees that formed a light canopy on one side that had replaced the prism palms of White Sands, while ocean waves crashed vigorously on the beach on the other side. In both directions, the beach curved away about a mile or so in the distance. On one side she saw a ship sailing away in the distance. The portal here was obviously the odd stone archway that looked as if it had formed naturally, but probably had been made by magic some time in the past.

"Merratet, the Cat Lands," said Panwyr casually.

"Oooh, I LOVE the dreams here!" said Faelar.

Merla gasped and whispered, "This is where the weretigers hunt, isn't it?"

"No, not in this region" said Panwyr, "and good thing, since your shrill cries would've drawn the lot of them."

"Enough, both of you!" shouted Sylvie. "We better move in case the Hardheads find out how to use the portal to come after us. I suggest following the beach that way since I see a ship sailing away. There's probably a settlement there." Turning to Panwyr, she asked, "Do you know specifically where we're at?"

"I think so," said Panwyr. "I've stumbled to this realm enough accidentally from the Rapture Quarter of Brightwater and this looks familiar. I agree with your suggestion, and if it's the place I think it is, I can get us back to Brightwater."

As they began walking, Sylvie asked, "So how were you able to see us? After all, we were, and are, invisible."

Panwyr shrugged. "I'm enough of a bard to be able to cast a See Invisible spell, and since they were after you, I figured I'd need it to find you." He didn't seem to mind that anyone who saw him talking would think he was barmy talking to himself. Or maybe they'd see the footprints in the sand beside him.

Sylvie then asked, "So what is this portal key anyway?"

"It's a magic stealer," answered Panwyr. "Eurid Caxi commissioned my party to get it for him."

Sylvie blinked. "Magic stealer?"

"The device we used to escape. When it's taken through a portal, it alters the gate key so that for it to work, there has to be either a magic item or a spellslinger with a spell in her. It will take the most powerful item or available spell automatically and transfer it to the lair of an Incantifier."

"Magic eaters," muttered Sylvie darkly.

Merla didn't seem troubled by this. "I'm glad I left my magic behind then, I'm clean! Hey, can that key be altered so that it picks the pockets and purses of anyone using them and dumps them in a specifically prepared vault?" When Panwyr and Sylvie glared at her, she added, "I was just curious." Then she blinked as she added, "Gods, plane hopping could get a lot more complicated. But a nice way to get rid of an enemy's most powerful magic once you tumble to the dark of it."

Without looking at her, Panwyr added, "But you'd realize the folly of that once you tried using the corrupted portal later, or any of the other corrupted portals, or a cleric you needed with that Heal spell loses the needed spell as he uses a corrupted portal to get to you."

"Oh," said Merla. "Not good."

Sylvie hugged Faelar close. "I'm glad it didn't take Faelar. I guess that makes sense as Incantifiers aren't able to eat magic from familiars."

Merla asked, "Hey, why not steal ALL the magic items and spells a person has?"

Sylvie made a guess. "I'd say risk of magical overload. They need plenty of magic to feed, so they go for the most powerful to make it worth it, but at the same time if it took ALL a body's magic, then it might burn itself out, or even cause a magical catastrophe in the lair or other such problems."

Panwyr shrugged. "I'm not a wizard, but I know a thing about portals that I bet even you haven't picked up on. One thing is that most portals require a key. A SINGLE key. The device there negates the need for that one key and replaces it with the most powerful magic, but still a SINGLE key. To take ALL magic would require a much greater corruption of the portal, probably not even something an archmage could accomplish. But I do know that the Incantifier has a spell crystal of some kind that absorbs spells gained by corrupted portals, and many magic items that also absorb spells have been known to overload and explode."

"So why were you the one to carry it?" asked Merla. "Surely you're not the most responsible one."

"No, but I am the only one who can cast spells, making me necessary to use it at all unless they wanted to sacrifice what magic they had. Besides, I've learned how to use portals without keys, so when I'm successful, it doesn't take any magic, though it still corrupts it. But we didn't have time with the Hardheads about to scrag us or worse, and so it cost us a carpet."

"You don't sound too upset," noted Merla. "My guess is that it wasn't yours."

"Borrowed," answered Panwyr with an air of lightness that he didn't fully succeed in pulling off. "From a Taker. And you know what they believe, if you have it, then it's because you deserve it. Belief is power on the planes, and I guess I deserved his carpet more than him."

"Were you spotted?" asked Merla.

"No. My party distracted him while I cast a sleep on his minders guarding his score."

Merla whistled. "Your dad isn't all bad, Sylvie. Notice how he effectively used magic. You would do well to learn some initiative like that."

Sylvie gave an exasperated sigh before asking, "So what happens if your friends are connected to you?"

"They won't be. And if they are, then they can deal with it. We all agree that getting the magic stealer to Eurid is top priority. That's the ride that pays."

Sylvie asked, "So who is this Eurid, and what does he want with it?"

"He's a wizard and a member of the Sensates," answered Panwyr. "Being a wizard, the device is already a threat to him, but as a Sensate, he fears that gaining experience across the planes would become much harder as a result of this corruption."

After walking down the beach a ways, Sylvie asked, "Are you a Gate Crasher?"

Panwyr smiled weakly. "I've picked up a few tricks. I can even suppress a fiend's ability to call in reinforcements."

Merla blinked in surprise. "A modest bard?"

Panwyr answered, "More of a burned out bard." He shrugged. "Other bards rarely give me any respect, dismissing me as a fool. And maybe they're right. I'm more of a rogue than a bard, I just had a love for the panpipes and a love for magic without the talent or willingness to study or serve a god for it. I picked up some basic bardcraft, along with a few minor bard spells, from another at a Midnight Gambol that me and my mother went to. And he was considered a fool by other bards, and he never learned how to inspire others with his music the way most other bards do, and neither have I."

Sylvie smiled. "Ah, yes, you, Mom, and Granny took me to one of those shortly before we left Silverymoon. The best part was where those invisible pixies kept tickling me until I was almost out of breath and then pouring that flying potion down my throat. They turned visible and we went flying together."

"Mother loved that," answered Panwyr, smiling nostalgically. "And the pixies love her. Though she doesn't have that much in the way of divine magic or wander as much as she used to, she's still a revered Mischiefmaker. They loved your mother Topknot, too. And you."

Sylvie was touched by the sad fondness in his voice. It was obvious that he remembered those days as happy times, but didn't feel so happy today. "So how did you become a Gate Crasher?"

"To get away from the Zhents, I finally took a portal to the outer planes. I stayed in Sigil awhile but like your mother I've always hated that place. I tried to lose myself in pleasure and joined the Children of the Vine for awhile and somehow—I'm not sure how—I came to be in the Den of Olidammara in Ysgard."

"A power of Oerth," said Sylvie. "I've been there, and while I prefer other deities, I don't hesitate to lift a cup of wine in his honor. Is he your patron deity now?"

Panwyr shook his head. "I still claim the Fey Jester as my patron deity, though it's rare that I pray to any god." He shrugged as he added, "Luckily, Erevan appreciates those that do for themselves. And Olidammara is about the same and his followers aren't known to be zealous. Like you, I'm willing to lift a cup in his honor. So I was welcome there, but after I started to get bored, and saw that others were finding me less interesting in turn, I left with a Gate Crasher, and he taught me the ropes. We mainly burgled dangerous places, and spent or gambled away our score back at the Den, or other places we were fond of, like Brightwater. I've had so many flings and one night stands before plane hopping away that more than one past flame that I could barely recall accosted me, which is why I reacted the way I did when you started casting vile insults at me."

"You speak of that in the past tense," noted Sylvie. "What happened?"

"We were caught breaking into Dis. It turned out to be one of many tests that Dispater had arranged to test some new defenses put up. But that wasn't the worst of it, we were routed from the flaming city into the icy wastes of the 8th Pit, where we witnessed a tanar'ri turning stag on his kind by working with the baatezu. As I found out later, the tanar'ri was promised safe passage in Baator as long as he did them no harm. The baatezu got all they wanted from him, so they arranged to have us witness their meeting together. Since I was a bard and it was assumed I would share what I've seen of such an unusual sight few other bards could boast—especially when asked why my friend who was not a bard did not make it back with me—that would damage their infernal reputations, which meant the tanar'ri stag had caused them harm, which meant they could kill him without breaking their word."

"Baatezu are some twisted fiends all right," agreed Sylvie. "They may be the only fiends that keep their word, but somehow they turn even that virtue into an act of nightmarish horrors."

"So he didn't escape the 8th Pit, he was let go," observed Faelar.

Sylvie didn't share her familiar's observations with the rest. She could see the pain and guilt this caused in her father, no doubt a bonus in the view of the devils that had played him in their own infernal designs. She noticed then that while Panwyr showed only a little sign of having aged since she'd last saw him almost 2 decades ago, he still seemed much older as if the years he lived were a burden upon his shoulders. The carefree spark she remembered in him was gone.

Merla asked, "So how did you find the ride you're on now?"

Panwyr winced. "I gambled and lost more than I could afford to pay. Knowing that I was a Gate Crasher, he _geased_ me into paying him back, which this ride will come a long way in doing." He didn't have to say that if he failed to pay his debt that he'd face an agonizing death. Sylvie no longer blamed him for his desperation to fulfill the obligations of his geas, though he was the one who got himself in that mess in the first place.

As they rounded the bend, they could see a port town that looked to be a good hour's walk. Panwyr said he recognized it and knew it had a portal to Brightwater. Faelar took to walking awhile to stretch his legs as well as giving Sylvie a chance to rest her arms. The cat reminisced about dreams of hunting that all felines shared here in Merratet, the realm of the cat goddess Bast. Those not feline also shared those dreams, but as the prey rather than the hunter, so Sylvie didn't bother to share Faelar's fondness for the dreams here with the others as she knew they would not appreciate being reminded of the unnerving experience.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8: Beachin'**

They got back to White Sands without any problems, other than Merla saying how much she missed the magic carpet once she had gotten tired of walking. And Sylvie had to admit her father was canny when it came to opening portals without their keys, a legendary feat many envied but few could perform. She obviously knew a lot more about the planes and magic than he did, but not even she could do that. And his success meant that she wasn't losing her spells as they used the portals.

By the time they got back to White Sands, the Hardheads had been driven away, and while some of the visitors were less than festive, the overall atmosphere was one of celebration, even more than usual. It was also nighttime, but there was plenty of light from the prism palms, sunflies, fairy fires, torches, and lanterns. Sylvie, Merla, and Faelar were visible again, too, the effects of Sylvie's Mislead spell having ended before they reached the port town in Merratet.

Panwyr got them back to his party, who were more than a little annoyed, but were somewhat mollified when Sylvie, along with a very grudging Merla, agreed to not demand a share in the payment to come.

Eurid Caxi turned out to not only be a wizard, but a Sensate highup as well as a host for the Transplanar Surfing Event, where he hoped to experience as many types of people possible and gain some ideas from the rumors on what he should experience next in his quest for knowledge and power. Meeting them just outside his villa under a floating lantern that hovered beside him wherever he went, he gladly paid the adventurers what he'd agreed to pay them in the first place, and didn't seem to hold a grudge about the item being temporarily diverted. They could all clearly hear the sounds of celebration coming from within his villa.

"Are you coming, berk?" asked the bariaur to Panwyr.

"Not now. I need to get some things straightened out with my daughter."

"It doesn't surprise me that you've sired children," said the hairfoot to Panwyr, "only that you'd know the name of any of them!"

Laughing, his party wandered off while Panwyr remained behind. Sylvie was secretly relieved, having made no demands on him to stay, but was troubled by the look of resolve on his face, as if he were expiating his sins by staying rather than from any fatherly love.

Eurid seemed to have paid no mind to the crude exchange, just chanting softly at times as he peered closely at the magic stealer. He also seemed very relieved to finally have the item in his possession.

He was in such a good mood that Sylvie decided to ask something she'd been wondering. "How was such a thing even made anyway?"

Eurid creased his brows in thought. "Of the details, I know little. I'm aware that it was made from the rock gathered from Howler's Crag in Pandemonium, which is said to be the grave of a dead power, one that used to be a god of portals and planewalkers. I believe I can undo the corruption of the portals and destroy the item itself with a spellhaunt I know lurking in The Harmonica. I'm hoping that it will also attack the Incantifier that made this abomination."

Sylvie shook her head. "I hope it works. But if you can manipulate spellhaunts like that, and don't mind going to The Harmonica with its lurking fiends while in the presence of one, then you're far more powerful a wizard than me."

"I would say so," Eurid replied casually. "I'm an archmage after all, and have experienced almost every single plane of existence that I've ever heard of, and quite a few that I haven't."

Sylvie whistled. "Yep, definitely more powerful and well-lanned than me."

Eurid, unlike many wizards, didn't gloat or act self-important or dismissive. It was just a fact to him that mattered little. He instead cocked his head and asked, "You wouldn't happen to be the kender wizard those Hardheads are after?"

"Of course not," said Merla.

"Actually, I am," said Sylvie. "What happened to them anyway?"

"Most to all of them were destroyed. I'd dispatched a messenger to Factol Faith to have her clear these troops out before it came to that, but I guess she didn't listen." He shrugged and added, "I need to destroy this artifact first. But I do know that there was a boy here, Lenny, that was killed while surfing. He was the son of the Harmonium Measure Two who was here, and he answers to the same baatezu, a Measure Three Harmonium, that manipulated Lenny into coming. I got that from an agent of the solar that resurrected Lenny and learned his story. Some lesser devils were caught trying to find the boy, too, believing him to be a petitioner, which suggests that the boy was unknowingly an agent of the baatezu." His face showed resolve as he added, "If there's a baatezu plot against White Sands, I'm just one of many that would like to know of it."

Sylvie shook his head. "They're twisted fiends all right, but I don't know anything about this, nor do I know anything about this Lenny."

"Well as I say, I'll look into it after I take care of this." He lifted the magic stealer.

Sylvie nodded, and then asked, "Eurid, please, if I may ask you about something near and dear to me that someone of your power and vast experience might be able to answer?"

At first the archmage seemed impatient and annoyed, but open curiosity slowly softened his features. "If it's a question I can answer quickly I will do so in exchange for your help in getting this item back to me."

"Thank you," said Sylvie, as she bowed her head momentarily in respect as one wizard acknowledging another as superior in knowledge and skill. "When I was a child, my mother was thought to have been destroyed by a staff wielded by an evil wizard that she'd insulted. But there was no sign that she disintegrated, no evocations were unleashed, nor any other sign that she'd been destroyed. She simply vanished. Would you say she'd been destroyed as assumed?"

Eurid pursed his lips and then shook his head. "Very likely. I'd say she was banished or at least teleported elsewhere, which a wizard feeling personal offense, especially an evil one, is unlikely to do unless the place was especially bad. Perhaps she was banished to a realm of fiends that tore her apart. However, another possibility is that she was imprisoned somewhere so that the wizard could deal with her at his leisure. In fact, I'd say that this is more likely, assuming he was powerful enough to control such magic."

Sylvie turned to Panwyr. "Was he?"

Panwyr, gaping at the mouth as if stunned by this thought, simply blinked. After Sylvie repeated her question more forcibly, he stammered, "I…I don't…know. Probably. He was in Darkhold after all, he had an apprentice as well as an armed escort…"

"Darkhold?" asked Eurid. "You mean the Zhentarim stronghold on Faerun?" As Sylvie vigorously nodded her head, he said, "I'd definitely say imprisoned, probably in a specially made magical prison within the fortress, in which the staff is needed to release her. They're notorious for taking prisoners for torture and interrogation. The Zhentarim love information as well as power, and they also need sacrificial victims." Then he frowned. "Likely she died later then. They wouldn't keep her around for long."

Sylvie turned to Panwyr. "Save that you killed him! What did you do with his staff?"

"I gave it to a Harper I know, in exchange for the reward money on Zhentarim magic like that."

"Is this Harper still alive?"

Panwyr shook his head. "I don't know. Since he's a Harper mage that tutors at the Lady's College in Silverymoon, as well as being of elven blood, there's a chance that he is." He rubbed his head with a hand absently before snapping his fingers and saying, "Laucien Eveningfall! That's his name!"

Sylvie nodded grimly. "Then we're going to Silverymoon."

"Probably a good idea if the Harmonium wants you as badly as it seems to," said Eurid. "I'll see what I can do about that as you don't strike me as evil in the slightest, but you know how hardheaded they can be about these things. Luckily, I think Factol Faith can be reasoned with, though I don't expect her to last much longer. But I have my own agenda to look after first though, so until then, good luck to you and yours, kender." With that, Eurid turned and walked a few steps away before vanishing.

"Dad, I really need you to come with me," said Sylvie.

"I'd love to," said Panwyr, "but I'm _geased_, remember? This share will go a long way to paying off my debt, but I can't stop even for a single day in repaying it or…you know."

Sylvie nodded. "How much left do you owe?"

Panwyr sighed. "At least another five thousand in gold."

Sylvie sighed and said, "We'll head over to my case and get our magic and gear, and I've got a diamond and a ruby stashed away that should definitely be enough of a sparkle to cover it. In return, you come with me." Her eyes narrowed as she added, "But if you ditch me like some rube, I'll chase you down and _geas_ you myself!"

Panwyr blinked at her. "I'm coming with you Sylvie, gladly, once I've been release from the geas. Besides, as the high up said, it's a good idea to get out of touch for awhile."

Merla spoke up then. "I certainly don't mind going to Silverymoon, but I don't know about going to Darkhold!"

Sylvie turned to her friend. "Merla, this is important to me! And think of the treasures to be found there!"

"Think of the monsters, clerics of evil gods, black hearted wizards, traps, and sadistic guards to be found there, too!"

"Anything easy probably isn't worth doing anyway," replied Sylvie. "Besides, the fortress is impregnable to military assaults and the like. But we're not going in waving swords and blasting away with spells. We'd be SNEAKING in, clever, quick, and quiet! I don't mean to be destroying the fortress, I just want to know what happened to my mom."

Merla shook her head. "Some things are better not to know." As she noted Sylvie's sad pout, she added, "Of course a kender like you can't understand that." She sighed. "Very well, if it comes to that, I'll go, under protest, because there's no way you can survive without me." She glared at Panwyr and added, "Especially with that bubber."

Faelar spoke up as he rubbed up against Sylvie's leg with, "What she said."

What Panwyr said, crude and to the point, shocked even Merla and would've impressed an Ysgardian sailor.

"It may not come to that anyway," said Sylvie. "I only mean to go if there's a valid reason to believe Mom might still be alive. For now, I just intend to go to Silverymoon."

All of them, even Panwyr, liked the idea of going to the beautiful and enlightened city. None of them had a clue that the Harmonium forces they hoped to evade were also preparing to leave for Silverymoon in search of them.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9: Silver & Gold, an elven drama**

Saevel Ilphustacia was in something of a bind, caught between clan loyalties and the need to smooth over ruffled feelings. A few days ago, his demented sister Arialana had returned to their family hold in Silverymoon in the company of a young gold elf, barely more than a century old. Not just any gold elf, but one from the Evanara clan. Alariana, scandalous even by the standards of the Ilphustacia clan, had taken him for a lover. And whereas most gold elves, also known as sun elves, were very reserved and proper, her boy toy was determined to be the exception, taken with the mad god that his sister was a priestess of. Naturally, the Evanara blamed the Ilphustacia clan for this.

Saevel met with them immediately in his study as soon as a servant announced that they'd arrived, hoping that the rich and well polished bookshelves with their books and scrolls, dignified furniture and the finer things in life adorning the room, along with the growing plants and classic white marble with crystal of pink and green architecture, would temper them and keep the proceedings civil. Just because his youngest sister was deranged didn't mean they all were!

Too tense to sit, they all stood with grave dignity, rich clothing in conservative elven styles adorning them all, along with magical jewelry, and a see-through crystal goblet filled with Elverquiist. The wayward son's mother wore a formal gown bedecked with gems that flickered with some arcane sparkle.

"Tis just a harmless fling, I'm sure," said Saevel to the very upset Vestele and Heain Evanara, the mother and father of the smitten gold. They had magically traveled from Evereska the moment they knew their son was here. So far they'd hidden their presence from him, hoping to make Saevel the bad guy in sending him home. He shrugged helplessly. "My sister has always been taken with the Fey Jester and this is no doubt just another prank. I'm sure Corly…"

"Coreel!" corrected a very stiff Vestele.

"Coreel," said Saevel, correcting himself graciously. "I'm sure he's just on a lark, drinking too much fey wine, hanging around pixies. He's barely even a century old. Didn't we all go through that phase?"

"Perhaps you did," said an even stiffer lipped Heain, "but we're GOLD elves, from a family well-established before the days of Myth Drannor no less, rather than being so tainted in our lines as to mix with gnomes and halflings and even humans! We do NOT go through such a 'phase' as you call it, and I despair if such frivolous and scandalous behavior is considered normal for moon elves." He shuddered, then asked, "And didn't your sister even give birth to a child that was half-satyr?"

Saevel sighed. "Respen, yes. I believe he's staying in the High Forest with some wood elves."

"Good riddance to him!" said Vestele. "He caused as much trouble in Evereska as he did in Silverymoon. And the LAST thing we need is to have established a marital bond with a clan so degenerate that it links us by blood to humans, satyrs, and whatever fey or halfling creature it was that the half-person Panwyr bonded with." She shook her head, muttering, "Bad blood, _gray_ blood."

Saevel had to swallow his annoyance at the racial slur that some particular proud gold elf clans, such as Evanara, engaged in, even when not infuriated by the circumstances at work right now. In the elvish tongue, "gray" was easily transferable to "dross." In the opinion of some gold elves, moon elves had evolved as a waste product, and so they used "gray" as a slur when most other gold elves referred to moon elves as "silver" elves. And of course referring to a half-elf as a half-person was an example of how they used their language to insinuate that only elves were real people.

But he'd been a merchant for nearly two centuries and learned to overlook slights, serving up revenge cold at a later time. With dignity, he said, "Alariana has never married anyone, despite having had three children, and I doubt she intends to marry now. This is just more novelty on her part that she will eventually tire of. And I know my sister is, how should I put it, reckless and scandalous, to the point that she tries even our patience, but we cannot be blamed for her actions."

Heain responded with, "You allow her to do so, so yes, the blame is yours. If you can't control her, then exile her, just as you did the Mischiefmaker's misbegotten children." A Mischiefmaker was what many elves called the clergy of the Fey Jester.

Saevel blinked. "Her children are not exiled, they're just not made to feel particularly welcome. With the exception of Arvenyana, of course, though she did inherit a wild streak from her mother, for she has brought honor to House Ilphustacia."

Vestele smiled unkindly. "And caused much gossip all by herself to all the other houses, even though she is at least a real gray elf. Is it true, what they say about her having a tattoo of the Fey Jester's mark on her posterior that she flashed at a Starym who had just taken her to task for being too irreverent?"

Saevel frowned briefly before catching himself. Arvenyana had been unconscious at one of her mother's Gambols back when she was less than a century old when unknown followers of that mad elven god adorned her naked posterior with a tattoo of the Fey Jester's holy symbol as a prank. Her other tattoos that she had willingly agreed to get as an adult and could be easily seen were not anywhere as scandalous (granted, a few were questionable). However, she showed poor judgment indeed to "prove" her fidelity to the Seldarine and elven ways by dropping her skirt & underclothes to flash the Fey Jester's holy symbol at the honorable Starym in Evereska lecturing her on her failure to live up to proper elven ways! Especially given that she had other tattoos celebrating more respectable Seldarine deities, which she could've merely rolled up a sleeve to show. That was over two decades ago and apparently it was STILL being talked about in Evereska. He barely repressed a sigh.

Nevertheless, her deeds were considered heroic, and even some gold elven scholars, including clergy, had interviewed her and her clan to record her courageous deeds on behalf of all elves for posterity. He was about to speak when there was a knock at the door that caused him to close his mouth again. He chose to ignore it, the servant could return later when the situation was less tense. "She has her quirks, but she's also an accomplished bladesinger, her deeds recorded as honorable, and respected by even some of the gold clans."

"The more questionable ones," said Heain. As the knock came again, he frowned and lifted a brow at Saevel. "Are even your servants incorrigible?"

Saevel sighed with annoyance and bid the servant to enter.

A young moon elf maid, her cheeks flushing blue at her rude intrusion, entered and bowed as she said, "Begging your pardon, my lord Saevel, but there's news I thought you'd want to be apprised of immediately."

Saevel blinked in curiosity. "And that is?"

"Your sister's half-human son has returned. And he's brought his daughter with him!"

Saevel closed his eyes and sighed. He knew his wife Glizyana would not be pleased to learn of this added complication upon her return in just a few hours time, and would demand that he do something to resolve the situation. Then opening his eyes, he said, "Alert Talindra immediately."

"She's at the Lady's College, my lord."

"Dispatch a messenger immediately, and if you can't find one, then go tell her yourself."

"Right away, my lord." She hurriedly left, softly closing the door behind her.

Heain smiled unkindly as he asked, "Why delegate this to Talindra instead of dealing with it yourself? Or is she the true master of your clan here in this human-infested city, as some have said?"

Saevel, annoyed at being reminded that he was more of a figurehead simply because his eldest sister, obsessed with her studies in the Art, didn't have the time or interest for the duties it entailed, abandoned the verbal sparring and bluntly said, "I'm barely wizard enough to scribe my own scrolls, but Talindra is in the process of becoming an archmage."

"And you need such a powerful wizard to deal with your own nephew and grandniece?"

Saevel now smiled himself, also unkindly. "Sylvie has become a wizard herself, and a fairly well accomplished one at that. I believe she is more accomplished than even either of you. And when dealing with wizards like Sylvie, it's always best to use another wizard, preferably one even more accomplished in the Art, as Talindra is."

Both gold elves were stunned, and showed traces of horror. Finally, Heain asked, "Who would teach your grand niece magic? Surely not even YOUR clan would be so mad, save your youngest sister, and she can't even scribe her own scrolls!"

Saevel answered him grimly. "The Harpells."

Vestele was outraged. "My son is NOT staying in the same house as a Harpell-trained wizard who is so polluted in her bloodlines that she's no longer a true elf at all, not even by the measure of gray elves!"

"It is," interjected Heain, "the Seldarine, no doubt, punishing your clan for what you've allowed in your clan. You MUST make recompense by convincing our son to return home and to his heritage, lest They send a pox of pixies against you as well!"

"That," said Vestele, "or your allowing a priestess of the Fey Jester has made you more vulnerable to His tricks as she draws His attention to your clan! Get rid of your sister and her brood before further chaos can descend upon your clan!"

Suddenly the door opened again and Sylvie entered the room. Vestele dropped her goblet startled, which clanged against the hearth, and then pretended nothing happened, as did Saevel and Heain. Or maybe they were all too focused on the approaching small quarter-silver elf, with her ridiculous topknot, carrying a black cat in her arms, who then sat down on Saevel's chair. She tried putting her feet on the ottoman in front of it, but it was too far, so she cast a quick _mage hand_ cantrip and pulled it closer, finally setting her feet at rest. As her cat gazed at them from her lap with preternatural intelligence showing in his elven-like green eyes (much like Saevel's own, he realized), she smiled and waved at the glowering elves, particularly at Saevel whose eyes were opened in shock, face blue with outrage, and mouth open in astonishment. "Hey, Grand Uncle Saevi," she said cheerfully, "how's biz?"


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**: **Vigilance and Harmony**

Measure Tyrm arrived in Waterdeep, along with a Cormyrean war wizard named Morn Dundragon. In addition was a personal friend of the war wizard, the cleric of Helm known as Senior Steeleye Bor Chernin. Formerly of a Helmite order known as The One True Vision, he found his way to the outer planes in a magical mishap during the Time of Troubles and had since joined The Harmonium. They were both Measure Ones in the Harmonium put under his command. Both were not only loyal to Helm and the Harmonium, but native to this world and very familiar with Silverymoon. They had both helped the Helmite church and peace-keeping wizards known as the Spellguard in dealing with Red Wizards, whatever they were.

They left the troops behind in Arcadia, but once Measure Tyrm was ready for them, his cubic gate would return him home and Measure Romammon was prepared to send him back with a large portal that could bring his troops through. "Faerun is rich in portals and its magical weave makes it easy," he'd said.

Once in Waterdeep, the war wizard teleported them to the gates of Silverymoon, as the city had mythals that prevented those without a ward token to teleport directly into the city. Neither native seemed particularly bothered by the city as they walked through it, but Measure Tyrm was shocked. It reminded him a little of Arborea. It was not as chaotic as that degenerate plane, and here there were obviously laws, along with officers that enforced them. Yet many of the locals flaunted their individuality, and there were unseemly displays of art, music, and song far too common, along with frequent giddy laughter and gaudy use of magic. Fashions were colorful and individualistic rather than comforting in their conformity. The population was a mix of many races, especially humans, elves, gnomes, halflings, dwarves, and those of mixed blood, as well as more exotic races. But, fortunately, no kender.

The tallest structures were ancient trees that had been incorporated into the city itself, and each tree seemed different from all the other trees, just as each building was also unique, looking like a work of art. In some places, trees were shaped into intricate dwellings, and other dwellings not only had trees inside the building, but even growing THROUGH it. One place he passed was a tree with magically grown elven crystal and wood that made it for a large dwelling, complete with spiraling staircases and sculpted crystal bowls growing flowers all around it. The tree was on a hill, and the hill had been made into dwellings for halflings and gnomes. He could see dwarven pipes leading away in what appeared to be gnomish-inspired plumbing.

And all the foliage made it easy to get lost, though the two men escorting him knew their way around. It all made for a chaotic blend that gave an appearance of racial harmony and individual empowerment, though he knew such things were ultimately just pretty lies and evil temptations that led to destruction, and were the doom of rebellious children. He shook his head as the enormity of his task, of uniting all the cosmos under the Harmonium vision, momentarily overwhelmed him.

He was also shocked by the number of elves. Most of them were of mixed blood, like Sylvie and Panwyr, but plenty of full-blood elves abounded, most of them being of the moon or golden subrace. The moon elves, creatures of ethereal strangeness with delicate and finely chiseled features, made the fugitives Panwyr and Sylvie Starblossom look plain and ordinary by comparison. They seemed almost translucent in their moon-white skin with hints of icy blue where a human would be more tan or red. Their arms and legs seemed somehow longer, and their hands and feet were definitely longer and more slender than a human's. And they didn't so much walk as flow, stepping as a dancer would. They had the most variety in hair and eye coloring of any of the other elven types as well, though most had eyes of green or blue (very much like the fugitives he sought with moon elf blood), and hair that was bluish black, silver, or even blue.

But worst of all, so many of them that he passed were incredibly individualistic, quick to laugh and express joy at being alive, openly flaunting of their poor moral character, adorned with eccentric fashions (often with a mix of bright colors, and some showing more skin than it covered), and even public displays of song and dance, eager smiles and ready hugs, sometimes with members of other races. That nearly every single person who obviously was not full elf was of moon elf descent also said bad things to Measure Tyrm regarding the morals of the typical moon elf.

The golden ones, just as finely chiseled and delicate, at least seemed dignified and looked as if they were exercising patience with their moon elven cousins, though he saw a few look at them with open disdain (sometimes even more than they did those who were not elves), while a few seemed to bear expression of amused tolerance (many of these exceptions wearing golden robes & jewelry with a miniature gold rose or stylized heart on a brooch or necklace a common theme, or in their company, he noticed). Their clothing and styles were much more dignified, though a bit too posh (in a conservative sense) and painstakingly (or magically) achieved, in his opinion.

They also seemed to be more into contemplation, most of them writing or meditating in shaded groves rather than singing or engaging in shameful acts of self-expression like many of the moon elves did. They usually spoke softly and sparingly, which was different from the moon elves that seemed inclined to speak more, louder, and showing emotion. They didn't seem to be as accepting of non-elves as the moon elves were, but then Measure Tyrm wasn't particularly interested in mingling with the locals himself. They were at least as exotic as the moon elves, yet most of them didn't make him automatically think they were a cosmic mistake. He thought it might be worth offering them a chance at redemption by joining the Harmonium.

He was glad to finally reach the austere church of Helm known as The House Invincible, especially since there seemed to be no elves at all here, not even the golden ones. There was one half elf of moon elf descent that had come out just before he and the others went in, but he wore austere armor and clothes and something about him suggested to Tyrm's eye that he possessed a lawful heart. But now that they were here, it was time to stop gawking and carry out their mission.

Here, Steeleye Bor would do most of the talking, with Commandyr Tyrm playing "bad cop" if it became necessary. The war wizard was present in case they had the uncanny luck of running into the fugitives here, and would remain mostly silent and magically observing the proceedings, ferreting out subterfuge and chaotic intent.

Because of his past connection here, Steeleye Bor was able to gain them admission to the head priest, known as Vigilant Master Baerim Coraddor. Much like Steeleye Bor, he wore plate armor with an open-faced helm and the mark of a staring blue eye on the front of an upright war gauntlet painted into the chest. But whereas Steeleye Bor's plate was utilarian, Vigilant Master Baerim's plate was polished and enhanced by a red cloak and steel grey tabard holding a broadsword that seemed as inspirational as it was functional.

Steeleye Bor was talking to the solemn priest now. "Helm has taken a beating from upstart gods such as Tyr that seek to replace him, and has fallen from popularity by those who ignore His vigilance and instead focus on the alleged abuses by my order, the One True Vision. The vulgar masses also say that by doing His sworn duty, He kept the destructive deities in Faerun longer than they needed to be. They overlook that He was chosen over all other gods who had instead been stripped of their powers and cast down to Faerun. Yet Helm has shown me an opportunity for His worship to not only come back in popularity, but for His ways to rule supreme, in Faerun and beyond: the Harmonium."

"This is an order of Helmites?"

He shook his head. "Nay, but we are a growing presence within it. Unfortunately, so is Tyr, and other gods like Him, but that makes it all the more important that our church help with the Harmonium's vision. Especially as Helmite dogma and Harmonium goals blend so well together."

"Has the Harmonium established any footholds on Faerun yet?"

"Not yet, Vigilant Master. But it is only a matter of time."

Vigilant Master Baerim shook his head as he said, "I am not opposed to you, but I cannot betray the Silver Marches or its citizens in any way. My duty is clear and I will carry it out. The Silver Marches must be defended."

"Indeed it shall. However, we are not here to carry out subversion or a crusade. We are here simply seeking terrorists that have committed crimes against the Harmonium and are known to have family here."

"And that family would be?"

"A clan of elves known as Starblossom."

Vigilant Master Baerim's blinked and then shook his head. Finally, he said, "I cannot say I'm altogether surprised, as that clan has quite a reputation for scandal. On the other hand, they are well-connected merchants with alliances within this city, including its government, and from other cities and races abroad. Their clan extends to many regions on Toril, even in legendary Evermeet. They also have a renown bladesinger that prefers living in this city when she's not out doing whatever she happens to be doing. She's made herself popular with many people of various races in this city, and I understand that not only is she fond of her clan, but she has clashed with paladins of Helm and Tyr in the past, though not here in the Silver Marches. You must tread carefully if you go after the Starblossoms. And this church cannot aid you in doing so, for to do so would be to alienate many of the Spellguard and Knights in Silver, both of whom are members of our church, yet loyal to one or more members of the Starblossoms."

"We are not after the clan itself, Vigilant Master, but after two specific members: Panwyr, and his daughter Sylvie. A halfling by the name of Merla Bramblefoot is also wanted and was last seen in their company."

"Ah," said Vigilant Master Baerim, "now you're talking Alariana's brood. She has been a constant source of scandal for the clan for a good century now. I believe that she has never married and yet given birth to at least three children, each one to a different father. She's been banned from our church for pouring magical potions into our holy water. That caused many distracting – although admittedly harmless -- magical effects and could not be tolerated as it made us look less than vigilant. Her granddaughter, Sylvie Starblossom, is also on our list of troublemakers. The Spellguard also watches her closely as she not only learned to cast spells from a chaotic bunch of wizards known as the Harpells, but she's a known patron of a party guild of mischievous spellcasters in Silverymoon calling themselves the the Festive Arcanists." He frowned sternly. "I know and care little about Panwyr Starblossom, but I'd love to see the impious wizard he sired finally brought to justice."

"Then you'll help us?"

He shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, I cannot help you. I'd recommend that you speak to Talindra Starblossom, a Warder in the Spellguard since she doesn't count Sylvie a real elf at all and finds her and her half-elf father an embarrassment to the clan. Being a force for law and order in the Silver Marches herself, and as one who has been assigned to deal with Sylvie by Jorus Azuremantle of the Spellgaurd in the past, she may sympathize. It's said that she's the true ruler of her clan, at least within the confines of Silverymoon. But elves are clannish creatures, and as long as Alariana is sure to get involved in any troubles, then not even Talindra will aid you."

Measure Tyrm finally spoke up. "Are you certain that a Warder would give aid and succor to a known criminal?"

"No," admitted the Vigilant Master, "there is much I find redeemable about Talindra Starblossom, but elves of all kinds tend to have a strong racial loyalty, especially to their family, and doubly so when it's humans that threaten them. Moon elves in particular are also prone to throwing tradition to the wind, and have a habit of standing up to what they see as injustice and evil when they can. Given their wanderlust, lack of usual elven pretensions, and chaotic outlook, they sometimes treat paladins with the same distrust, even hostility, as slaver organizations and tyrants. They're not all that way, but many of them are. The Starblossom bladesinger is this way, and I'm glad she's off dealing with orcs right now on behalf of the Silver Marches rather than making trouble in the city." He shook his head. "At least the sun elves, or gold elves as most others usually call them, respect tradition and sanctity."

Measure Tyrm frowned. He saw why the baatezu hated moon elves even more than most other types of elves. "Is there any chance that the elf can be reasoned with, as officers of the law to a Warder of this Spellgaurd?" As pleasant as putting moon elves to the sword would be, especially those related to the kender-moon elf wizard, it would not get him what he wanted, and the wanton killing of anyone involved in law enforcement, even if they weren't worthy to enforce the law, was not an action for any Harmonium officer to take lightly. He had to sublimate his hatred and focus on carrying out his duties as an officer of the law.

After a moment, the Vigilant Master nodded, and said, "Let me see about that." Then calling a lesser priest, he instructed him to fetch the Warder on "a matter of diplomatic necessity" to The House Invincible.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11: Rub a Dub Dub**

"Honestly," said Sylvie to Alariana as she stripped off the last of her clothes, "I don't know what got into Saevi, him yelling and using words that shocked the Evanara gold elves, it's not like he was sitting there himself when I sat there! Like I would crawl into his lap, ug." She made a face.

Arialana chuckled as she shucked off her tight black leather clothing, putting her black leather cap that was actually a hat of disguise crafted by Sylvie as a gift on the top. She slowly entered the hot tub that was big enough to almost be a pool. Enchantments woven into it kept the pool comfortable and heated. Scattered about were fine crystal dishes and bowls filled with cheese, roasted nuts, and sugarstars, as well as goblets and decanters of Evermead. Small bowls filled with a mix of shelled sunflower seeds, raisins, and various nuts were also scattered about.

As Alariana entered, the others, also now naked, entered and settled themselves within. The others entering the pool were Sylvie, Merla, Panwyr, the gold elf Coreel, and two young moon elf servants, Tharion and Elysia Siannodel ("Siannodel" translating into the common tongue as "Moonbrook"). The servants had been taken in after their parents had been killed. Less than a century old, they were given a lavish place to stay in exchange for service until they were adults, but Alariana treated them more as the foster children that they were instead of servants that the rest of the clan treated them as. Yet had a human inexperienced with elves seen them naked in the large hot tub together, he would assume all those with elven blood were about the same age, with Sylvie being the only child in the tub, and likely guessing Panwyr to be even older than his mother.

Faelar, who did not like the water, remained in Alariana's room by the magnificent fireplace of white marble and elvish brass and silver, with an invisible magical screen that kept sparks from leaping out, sleeping contentedly.

Panwyr sighed. "It's just like Mother to create mischief. That's why she had you go greet him, Sylvie."

Sylvie shrugged. Then laughing a little, she asked, "Hey Granny, wanna tease the Helmites some more while I'm in town?"

Alariana laughed. "That was great when you made that illusion of a Helmite Gauntlet Hand, so blasphemously hilarious when you had it act as if snapping to a tune, and then downright _terrible_ in its hilarity when you had it make rude gestures toward the clergy!" She laughed more and more as she spoke and finally collapsed into a total giggle fit while Panwyr rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Hey, now," said Merla adjusting to the hot waters, "I think we're in enough trouble annoying law-obsessed zealots without piking some more off at us." She picked up some more nuts, seeds, and raisins in a bowl beside her and started snacking on them.

"But in so doing, we bring joy to the oppressed and relief from the tedium."

"Bar that," said Panwyr, "I've indulged myself in all kinds of pranks, roguery, and debauchery for well over a decade and have found little solace."

"I dare say," answered Alariana, "that you pursued escape so relentlessly that it became tedious in of itself. It's not that your activities brought you no joy, it's that the tedium of your day-to-day existence robbed you of it. Even hedonism becomes tedium to be overcome when it is a constant within your life. It is change and excitement that bring joy and spice up life, not constant revelry. If such debauchery becomes just another normal day for you, then of course it becomes routine and monotonous, and that's why you have to embrace change and do something else."

"For a Mischiefmaker," said Panwyr with some annoyance, "you sure do spout a lot of crap."

"I speak not just as a Mischiefmaker, but as your mother. Remember when you first took up those panpipes you play so well, how much joy they brought you? And when you began earning your way into the Midnite Gambols of the Fey Jester? And when you began to learn the ways of the bard? Or when you first began exploring the planes? Or when you brought your new bride home? I remember you as joyous then, and your life was change and excitement back then that included a little wine, roguery, and debauchery, rather than a life defined by such things. I'd love to see you with that joy of life again."

"Hey," said Merla, "speaking of debauchery, can I get some more of those sugarstars?"

Alariana whistled a tune that caused a _mage hand_ cantrip to deliver a saucer bearing sugarstars to Merla's reach. Then turning to Panwyr, she said, "Have some more Evermead."

As Merla happily snacked, she said to Alariana, "I thought your family kept you in the basement, from the sound of it, but this is a top-shelf ride worthy of the most well-lanned high-up!"

Alariana smiled and said, "This is formerly a guest chamber that has since been walled off with magically grown crystal. It's not entirely separate, but it does prevent casual or accidental crossing between one wing of this part of the hold and the rest."

Merla's eyes opened. "A chamber, you say? There are MANY rooms here, and all of them sweet."

"This part is less tradition-bound and less dignified, as well as being made to accommodate not only honored guests, but their family and servants, which is why you all have your own room. Talindra seems to be correct in that the difference is lost on non-elves."

"It's not lost on me," said Sylvie, knowing her clan didn't consider her of elf blood at all even though they accepted those half elven. "But I prefer this part of the hold anyway. It has all the luxury without the pomposity to ruin it."

A cool draft alerted them that someone had entered. Very soon after, Talindra entered wearing a scarlet robe with a black sash and carrying a thin white birch staff festooned with raven feathers. Her eyes were very much like her youngest sister Alariana, as well as Panwyr and Sylvie, but her long buff-white tresses cut into a long layered style with its ends falling into coiled ringlets was quite different, far more dignified and stylish as well as radically different in color. In her hair was a jeweled hairpin that could only be seen as the light reflected off of small emeralds on it. Her expression showed that she was not amused. "So I see our troubles have only multiplied."

"Hey, Tallie," said Sylvie, causing Talindra to blink in annoyance and Alariana to giggle.

Noticing that Panwyr seemed the least high spirited, even less so than the servants shamelessly in the bath with them, she decided to direct her inquiry to him. "Long has it been since you've graced our home, Panwyr Ilphustacia. What is it, I wonder, that has brought you back?" Her tone subtly but unmistakably belied the polite phrasing.

Panwyr smiled with some self-depreciation. "We're here to look up a Harper, Laucien Eveningfall, and get some information from him, assuming he's still alive and in Silverymoon."

Talindra nodded. "He's alive and well and at the Lady's College. Is that all the business you and your daughter have in Silverymoon?"

"Pretty much," said Panwyr.

"Then I shall contact him directly." So saying, she stepped out.

"Wow," said Sylvie lightly, "hot and steamy as it is in here, Tallie can still make one feel chilly."

Alariana splashed at the water and said, "Don't mind her. The church of the Fey Jester is little more than a loose fellowship of adventurers, rogues, and pranksters, yet all too many, especially those of high brow attitude like Talindra, fear us for our tendency to puncture self-righteousness, sanctity, and pretension that get in the way of The People having a joyous life."

"If I may," said Elysia, "she's particularly bothered by you and Coreel Evanara getting together. Back when Arimel bonded with the gold elf Imizael Xiloscent, it disrupted Ilphustacia business as many gold elves temporarily boycotted your family, until Arimel and Imizael opened that successful shop together, The Timeless Tome. Evanara is a much more prominent, and sanctimonious, clan of golds, and the repercussions are likely to be greater, and their likelihood to learn acceptance much less."

"Great mischief indeed," said Alariana, pleased with herself.

"I hope seducing me wasn't just to work mischief against the Evanaras," said Coreel in an alto singsong voice.

"Of course not," said Alariana. "You're cute, refreshing, and I wanted to do something different. Annoying the Evanara clan is just a bonus. Besides, you don't have anything against mischief, do you?"

Coreel opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted as he felt Alariana grab him somewhere intimate and barely stopped himself from jumping out of the heated pool. "Of course not."

"So where is Respen?" asked Panwyr.

"Out in the High Forest with a tribe of wood elves. I visited him briefly when I was taking some fey crossroads here from Evereska."

With a hint of awe in his voice, Coreel added, "He has acquired something of a group following of lovers, and not just of females, among the tribe."

The Siannodel children laughed merrily at the gossip of this, but the others were too cosmopolitan and experienced to be particularly impressed by it, and merely smiled or shrugged.

Alariana asked Panwyr, "So what do you need to see a Harper for?"

Before Panwyr could answer, Sylvie said, "There's a small chance that Mom might still be alive."

Alariana blinked at Sylvie, and then looked again to Panwyr who nodded. "Topknot? I do miss her. But I thought she was destroyed by an evil wizard from Darkhold?"

"Maybe not," answered Sylvie. "the Harper we seek was given the staff that may tell us different."

Merla shuddered, even in the heated pool. "But IF he has it or can tell us where to find it, we may have to go into Darkhold to release her, IF she's alive. And we got Hardheads after us, too!"

Alariana blinked. "Hardheads?"

"Think of a Helmish paladin with enough of a mean streak to find devils acceptable company and an extra corn cob up the butt and you got your typical Hardhead. They make the Evanara clan look light hearted and free spirited."

Alariana shook her head. "Hardheads and Darkhold." After pausing a moment, she added, "If you've got powerful enemies after you AND you intend to sneak into Darkhold, I hope you wait for my daughter Arvenyana to get back. She'd be good backup in case you come against a foe in an antimagic field, and she's quite fond of you and enjoyed your mother's company, so I'm sure she'd go with you."

Merla perked up, "I like that idea!"

Sylvie nodded. "Sounds like a good idea to me, too. IF I go, then she's invited with my other friends. You, too, if you want."

Alariana smiled warmly but shook her head. "Thank you, it's been awhile since I've had that kind of fun, but I'm in the mood for a different kind of fun now." So saying she spread her arms out underwater and Coreel jumped again, causing Panwyr to crack a smile while the rest broke out into merry laughter. "And you know," she added as an afterthought, "The Lady's College can always use another tutor, and you'd fit right in! And with all your planewalking, you really should learn to craft your own portals, which the college teaches."

Sylvie blinked. "Stay here?"

"Sure," answered Alariana. "They keep this entire section blocked off just for me and my children, and you can always find a new place closer to the Lady's College, if you prefer."

Sylvie shrugged. "I'll think about it."

"In the meantime, what shall we do tonight? I hear that there will be live music at The Dancing Goat tonight. Perhaps we should all go and get away from the highbrow attitudes of our kin for awhile."

Talindra returned before anyone could answer. Speaking curtly, she said, "I just spoke with Laucien Eveningfall through my mirror and he says he'll come tomorrow at about midday. I hope you can conclude whatever business you have and be about your business."

"As do I," said Panwyr, a hint of antipathy within his voice.

"Till next," said Talindra perfunctorily before leaving them.

After a moment, Coreel said, "That was awkward."

"Really?" said Merla, "I'm just glad she won't be letting anymore drafts in."

"There can be other inconveniences, though," said Coreel.

"Such as?" asked Merla.

"Such as water fights." So saying, he splashed water on Merla.

Sylvie responded first, splashing Coreel. Soon they were all splashing each other and laughing, even Panwyr.

Elsewhere in the Ilphustacia hold, Faelar continued to nap by a fire, and Talindra got a message to see someone at The House Invincible, the church of Helm within Silverymoon, on an urgent matter. Sighing, she just KNEW it had something to do with Panwyr and his daughter, and that meant it would involve her youngest sister and niece as they'd entangle themselves in whatever trouble they brought home with them this time. Shaking her head, she prepared to answer the summons forthwith.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12: The Art of Diplomacy**

Talindra arrived at The House Invincible late that afternoon, little more than an hour after the messenger had been dispatched, which, the Vigilant Master said with surprise, was very quick for any elf, let alone one of importance and clout such as Talindra. The exotic moon elf walked in, alone and imperious and holding her white staff. Vigilant Master Baerim Coraddor introduced the Harmonium to her before diplomatically leaving them to their business. He had other duties and he did not want to be forced to choose sides in the confrontation that was likely to come.

Talindra stared coolly from blue eyes very much like Panwyr's and Sylvie's at Steeleye Bor, Measure Tyrm, and War Wizard Morn Dundragon. "What is so urgent to the Church of Helm that you feel is also of concern to me?"

Steeleye Bor said as friendly as could be, "It's a grave matter that concerns us, and members of your clan, and I thank you for coming so quickly."

Talindra sighed. "You wish to see me about Panwyr and Sylvie Ilphustacia, don't you?"

"Ilphustacia? I thought your clan was the Starblossoms."

Talindra sighed even heavier that time. "Starblossom is the Common word for the elvish Ilphustacia. That means that they're one and the same." She remained cool and distant as she said, "Tell me what this is about."

"For starters, we'd like to know where they are."

"I could find that out. But first I must know what it is you would do if I were to tell you."

"We'd arrest them for serious crimes that they have committed." When Steeleye Bor saw Talindra give no sign of how she felt about this, he shook his head. "Surely you can't feel loyalty to them. They're not full elves and they've been nothing but a burden upon your family and stain on its reputation ever since they were born. Indeed, you'd be doing your clan a great service if you were to prune them off by turning these rogues over to the lawful entities that they have wronged."

Talindra tapped her chin thoughtfully. "What is it, may I ask, that they have allegedly done?"

Steeleye Bor took on a grave expression as he said, "Sabotage, terrorism, aid in the escape of dangerous prisoners, aid in the massacre of peace officers recently."

Talindra's hand dropped from her chin as she stared intently at all of them. "I agree that these are serious crimes, but I know of whom you speak. Panwyr is no rebel crusader or villain of any kind, more into music, wine, and women than political causes. His daughter Sylvie is more of a prankster motivated by curiosity and compassion than either ideals or malice. I say this with no love for either of them, accepting them only for my sister's sake, and my niece Arvenyana who, for reasons I don't understand, likes them. And given the different interests of Panwyr and Sylvie, I'd find it surprising that they were working together on anything."

Steeleye Bor looked at her doubtfully. "Do you claim that they cannot be guilty of these crimes? Because I have it on good authority that the charges are likely true, and will be duly proven in a court of law."

Talindra shook her head absently. "I grant you that they're both capricious and they tend to foster chaos, but neither of them is evil, nor are they violent without just cause." She then fixed Steeleye Bor with an unflinching stare. "If they did all these things, then I'd have to wonder if, at some level, it wasn't justified, perhaps something our own knight errants of Silverymoon or the Harpers would also have done in their place."

"Harper?" asked Measure Tyrm.

Steeleye Bor answered, "A large faction on this world dedicated to the ideas of balance between cities and nature."

"And also vigilant against tyranny in all its dark forms," added Talindra. "And the Harpers are much faster to act against such evils than Sylvie, and I've never known to Panwyr to do anything other than run or slip past them. Neither of them is political enough to attack peace officers, liberate prisoners, and engage in terrorist acts, not even to escape. Sylvie would use magic to escape, and Panwyr would charm or enspell his way out."

"These Harpers sound like Indeps," muttered Measure Tyrm darkly.

Steeleye Bors shook his head. "The Harpers would never deal with evil organizations the way Indeps would. Indeps are about total neutrality, rejecting all dogma, including Harper dogma."

"Cross trading scum is what they are," said Measure Tyrm.

Talindra lifted a brow. "I know not of whom you speak, but if they stand against tyranny and for balance between the civilized and the wild, then they have at least that much in common with the Harpers. And if you oppose them, perhaps I should oppose you."

Measure Tyrm decided to speak up as Steeleye Bor sighed. If she wanted to be defiant, then time to let her know what the stakes were. "It's true that there are some officers of the law out there that are overly zealous in their duty, and perhaps even brutal in carrying it out at times. However, the Harmonium is not like those of this type that you've heard about." Putting steel in his voice, he purred, "We're much worse."

Talindra sneered at the Harmonium Measure in a way that made him long to crash his fist into her face before strangling her with her own decadent hair. Without a trace of the fear that Measure Tyrm longed to hear in her voice, she said calmly, "Threats will not avail you here. If you menace me or my family, you will find the lawful powers in place here will deal with you as criminals and terrorists. I should add that I am a Warder with a command of spellgaurds, so the law in these parts includes me, and threatening me directly is a criminal offense. I answer directly to Jorus Azuremantle, who in turns answers directly to Taern Hornblade, High Mage of Silverymoon and ruler of this city, who in turn answers directly to High Lady Alustriel, Chosen of Mystra, and is the ruler of the Silver Marches. The High Lady herself is cautious about overzealous lawful types and is close to some of the most powerful wizards in Faerun, including her former teacher Elminster, who also express distrust of zealous authoritarians. More than one of them have been known to overthrew a kingdom or topple an empire, so your threats do not concern me."

Steeleye Bor said, "We mean no disrespect to your own lawful officers and rulers, or to threaten the sovereignty of you, your city, or your kingdom. We simply want two rogues that are known members of your clan, along with the halfling traveling with them. We thought you might do the right thing for your clan and your kingdom by helping us to apprehend them before they can cause more trouble, next time for you, your clan, and your city."

"I care little for Panwyr and even less for his daughter, but if you mean them harm, you'd best be ready to face Arvenyana, a renown bladesinger who could probably defeat all three of you singlehandedly. And yes, I can tell you are all experienced with putting down trouble and no doubt can boast of heroic accomplishments in the name of Helm and Harmonium, but I still say this, and would even if you had a dozen warriors backing you. And though I know not why, I know she's fond of her niece Sylvie, and I had to reprimand her back when Sylvie was little more than a child after I caught her trying to teach Sylvie the Art."

Steeleye Bor asked, "Isn't she away dealing with orcs right now?"

Talindra smiled coolly, but her eyes remained steel daggers, "She's currently helping a knight-errant of Silverymoon deal with a marauding orc warband that has been raiding towns and villages, and they are expected to return in less than a tenday. You see, the two of them alone are thought to be enough to deal with it." Then taking on a more predatory glint, she added, "She has also defeated paladins, including one of renown, after they took actions that she felt threatened elves."

Steeleye Bor shook his head. "I did not mean to threaten anyone other than the lawbreakers, who are not even full elves. But understand, we WILL apprehend these criminals, with or without your help. I hope it is not to the detriment of your honorable clan, but we will take whatever steps are necessary, and should you harbor them then you should be aware that the Harmonium, which is not only a philosophy but has a kingdom that spans entire worlds with realms in Arcadia, has champions of its own, more than any single clan or kingdom could claim, and include both celestials and fiends."

Talindra blinked in astonishment. "Celestials AND fiends? How is this possible?"

Steeleye Bor smiled, showing a mix of pride and piety. "The Harmonium has taught them how to work in harmony. Just as we hope to work with you in resolving this matter so that your clan and my faction both benefit."

Talindra's eyes narrowed. "You mean archons and baatezu working together, don't you?" When the cleric nodded, she said, "I can see why you don't get along well with the ones you seek. You would do well to not let the lawful powers at work here, including the Vigilant Master of The House Invincible, know that you work with devils. Indeed, you were foolish to let me learn of this."

Steeleye Bor shook his head regretfully, saying, "I know you don't understand, but one day you will. For now, I must ask, will you aid us, and relieve your clan of some dead weight, or oppose us and put your clan and its reputation in terrible danger?"

Talindra gave an imperious glare with no sign of what she was thinking, and she had enough abjurations in place that their war wizard couldn't read her either. Finally, she said, "Come here tomorrow at dusk and I will give you my answer."

As she turned to leave, Measure Tyrm gave her one last thing to think about. "If you hand them over to us, or even just tell us where they can be apprehended, we will silently take them to another plane of existence to mete out justice there, and they shall create no more trouble for anyone. No one in this world, including your own clan, has to know of your involvement in this matter."

Talindra paused as he spoke, but continued on without turning around.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13: Of Staff and Harper**

Laucien Eveningfall was a half-elf of moon elf descent, silver hair pulled back in a ponytail, and green eyes very similar to Faelar's. He spoke and moved with a graceful energy that was still human, and despite his respected position, he showed no pretentiousness at all about it. He wore simple blue cargo trousers, a white shirt, a ring on each hand, and gray cloak and boots. Two wands were visible in his black sash, and a medallion bearing the symbol of Mystra, goddess of magic, was visibly displayed at the top of his chest.

"Yes, I still have the staff," he said, after being told why they were interested in it. "It's locked away, but I can get it. If you intend to infiltrate Darkhold to use it, then you will have the support of the Harpers."

The Harpers, also known as Those Who Harp, were a group with different factions and leaders, though there had recently been a split between factions. As a whole, the group remained decentralized, and sometimes Harpers even worked at cross purposes with each other. But overall they could be counted on to champion the power of individuals, oppose slavery, attempt to preserve the balance between the civilized and the wild, and preserve history so that it could be learned from. Lucien had been an active Harper for over a decade, facing evil wizards and slavers of all kinds, until he decided to settle in his home city of Silverymoon. Now he spent his time between tutoring at the Lady's College and aiding active Harpers with helpful spells, as well as examining magical artifacts brought to him and attempting to use divinations to find missing Harpers. Sylvie gathered that he was able to cast slightly more powerful spells than herself, but was less accomplished in the Art than Talindra.

"I don't know enough to say anything about it in any meaningful way yet," said Sylvie. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

Laucien nodded. "It's small for a staff, black, lined with brass, and holding a small green crystal within the brass at top. Others have been found like it before, and we call them '_stasis staffs_.' The earliest users known were Netherese spelljammers."

"Yuck," said Sylvie. The Netherese wizards were among the first humans to ply the spacelanes, and were so quick to dissect anything they came across that for a long while humans were greeted with the same antipathy by civilized spacefarers as hideous illithids and brutal neogi. "So why call them stasis staffs?"

"By using the command word, the person affected would be transported into a Netherese _stasis sphere_, usually on the spelljammer to be taken back to Netheril for study."

"Uh, hu," said Sylvie, "so what's happened since then?"

"Once the Netherese alienated nearly the entire wildspace community, they abandoned operations, save for a few arcanists that ran independent forays. The _stasis spheres_ and _stasis staffs_ were then used by the Netherese archwizards to entrap certain people, typically magical rivals and political enemies, until they could be properly dealt with. To get them out, you touched the sphere with the staff and clearly stated who you wanted released."

"Similar to a _Mirror of Life Trapping_?"

Laucien nodded. "Yes, but this sphere had the spells _imprisonment_ and _temporal stasis_ woven into it."

"Both spells are too powerful for me to cast," said Sylvie. "But I understand them well enough. That means that Mom was put into a state of suspended animation, kept safe, and is likely still alive."

"She, and anyone—and anything—in the sphere with her. This is assuming, of course, that the Zhents didn't just shatter it, a difficult but doable task. This would release ALL the prisoners on the inside. However, they may not have."

"Especially if anything held within it was dangerous!" said Merla.

"And there's a succubus trapped within the sphere as well."

Sylvie blinked at that. "How do you know that?"

Laucien shook his head slowly. "It managed to infiltrate Everlund and I caught it stealing the soul of another Harper through its kisses. It turned on me and I used the staff in my moment of desperation, the little crystal glowing green as the succubus vanished. So if the sphere is still there, then the succubus is trapped in there with your mom."

"But in a state of suspended animation like her, and so Mom's not in any danger from the other prisoners."

"If the sphere even still exists."

"Is there a way to know?"

"Yes." After a moment he noticed their expectant gazes becoming annoyed and added, "I just have to cast a simple _detect magic_ cantrip on the stasis staff. If the magic of it is still intact, then the sphere can be assumed to still be intact, along with its prisoners."

Panwyr spoke up. "Could they build another staff to replace the one they lost?"

Laucien shook his head. "Not that I know of. Staff and sphere are bonded at creation. Not all _stasis spheres_ use staffs, but those that do are dependent on them to operate." He shrugged, adding, "But the Zhents have their own spell secrets just as we do, so no telling what's possible for them."

"Can the staff lead us to it?"

"Not that I know of."

"What would this sphere look like?"

"A glowing green ball about eight feet in diameter."

Sylvie whistled. "Sure is a lot of space to take up. I wonder why they haven't just broken it."

"I don't know," said Laucien, "but given the power of the spells woven into them, as well as the materials involved to craft sphere and staff, I'd guess that it's considered too valuable. They may just hope to get the staff back." He shrugged. "And given that Darkhold has been held by both giants and dragons in the ancient past, we can surmise that Darkhold has PLENTY of room by our standards."

Merla piped in with, "Or there may be things far worse than succubi within it."

"Which is likely," added Laucien. "But also Harpers, halflings of Corm Orp, elves of Evereska, and many others."

"You keep the staff," said Sylvie, "so that they can't start using it again. We'll just break the sphere and let the pieces fall where they may."

"I don't like that idea," said Merla. "There's at least one tanar'ri in there!"

"Before the Zhents got mom, she liked to say don't worry about spilled milk, the cat will come along and drink it up."

"Given that philosophy, no wonder she's trapped in an evil wizard's stas…oh, whatever you call that magical prison." She mumbled to herself, "I hate wizard talk."

"Some prisoners may be Zhents," added Laucien. "Rivals as well as people who knew too much."

"And innocents that need to be freed," said Sylvie.

Laucien sighed. "I can't argue that. And shattering it would prevent it from ever being used by them again." Nodding, he added, "Yes, it's best if the staff remains with me. But they may have more than one _stasis sphere_, and then you'd have to shatter them all."

"I'd do it. I mean, how many can there be?"

Laucien shrugged. "I'd doubt more than a couple, if even that actually. But remember that Darkhold predates even the Netherese, even the elves in this part of Faerun, and no one truly knows who made it or why." Then nodding, he added, "And should you go, I can tell if you succeed or not by whether or not the staff is still working, which is another reason for me to hold onto it."

"And if you hold onto it," added Sylvie, "then the Zhents can't kill Mom!" She shook her head in frustration as she added, "But I don't know how to find this _stasis sphere_!"

Laucien asked, "Have you tried asking your dad?"

Sylvie blinked, and then her eyes opened wide as she turned to face Panwyr. "That's right! You said Mom stole from his lab, which would be INSIDE Darkhold! You know the layout?"

"Not if he was captured instead of breaking in," said Merla.

"We were NOT captured," said Panwyr stiffly, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Spill," said Sylvie, "how did you get in?"

Sighing, Panwyr answered. "I'm afraid Topknot got the Hell Riders of Elturel angry over a misunderstanding I barely recall, which is why we temporarily left you with the priests at the Lady House outside of Corm Orp. Then your mother thought of the perfect place to hide, while seeing things few others had seen." He grimaced as he saw Merla's mouth open in shock.

"Darkhold," said Sylvie, smiling slightly in dark amusement. "Knowing kender, that almost makes sense. So you two were able to make it in?"

"As it was, there was a merchant caravan leaving Corm Orp and heading to Darkhold—they do have to trade for the stuff they can't steal you know—and that got us inside the walls. We may not be so lucky ourselves. And after that, we got ourselves the rest of the way in, but it wasn't easy, and the ONLY reason I'm willing to try it again is because Topknot might still be alive in there." He shook his head regretfully.

Sylvie shrugged. "I'm sure if you two got in, then we can get in."

Merla added, "They may have made some changes since those two made it in, beefed up security, created some new vicious spell or have summoned fiends that weren't there before."

"Maybe," said Sylvie.

"I can share with you all that we know of their current security, but I'm afraid it's not much to go on," added Laucien. "If you stop in Corm Orp, be sure to see Honored Mother Alliya Macenester, the Old Lady of Corm Orp, at the Ladyhouse. She is constantly having to deal with Darkhold and no doubt knows more about breaking in, or can point you to the halfling who does."

Looking to Panwyr, Sylvie asked, "And you can lead us to this wizard lab?"

"I think so," he said. "But I'm sure there's another wizard there by now."

"Leave that to me," said Sylvie grimly. "Once we've secured that area, then I'll try using a _Locate Object_ spell to find a glowing green sphere about eight feet in diameter, it should be easy as long as it's not surrounded by lead. And if that doesn't work, then we'll try more mundane searches. My charm spells and _medallion of thoughts_ can also help us get some inside information."

After a long moment when no one said anything, Talindra said, "I can give Laucien instant transportation to the staff's location, and whatever else he might choose to give you to aid you, since the Harpers obviously support such a quest. And then, if the quest is deemed worthy to pursue, I can give magical transport to Corm Orp, or wherever it is you wish to begin."

Sylvie blinked in surprise, and then she smiled lopsidedly. "But we just got here, Grand Aunt Tallie, and haven't yet feasted or drank our fill of Everquisst with you as we told you of all our adventures."

"Of which I'm sure there are many fascinating events to recount," replied Talindra smoothly and coolly, "But your mother cannot wait. At any time, the _stasis sphere_ that holds her could be broken by accident or evil intent, and then she will face a bleak future at the hands of one of the other prisoners, or on the black altars within Darkhold."

Sylvie nodded, and decided to quit teasing her. It was no small favor that she was doing. "Thank you," she told Talindra sincerely.

"It is but a small matter for one of my skill," she responded. "And making sure no trouble follows you home the next time you visit will be thanks enough." Then she turned to the Harper Mage and asked, "Shall we get your staff?"

"Wait!" cried Merla. "What about the bladesinger? She was going to come, too."

Talindra hid her instinctive cringe of horror at the thought and simply said, "Wait in Corm Orp and prepare and plan with the halflings there and I'll be sure she knows. If she chooses to join you, I will get her there. But I am quite serious that the sooner you get your mother out, the better."

Laucien added, "There are Harpers around Corm Orp as well. Arvenyana will also help. She hates the Zhentarim, Darkhold is an ever present threat to Evereska, and while she's not a Harper herself, she usually supports us, and is a personal friend of mine. I'll ask her to aid you as a favor to me and the Harpers."

"Absolutely not," said Talindra. When she saw everyone frown in disapproval, she amended, "If she chooses to aid of her own free will, so be it, but I will not see an honored member of my clan manipulated into so dangerous a task that is outside the realm of the Silver Marches."

Laucien nodded, but obviously wasn't pleased. "Very well. I will have Arvenyana deliver what wands, scrolls, potions, and other magical devices I can muster from the Harpers to aid you, as well as any maps I can dig up. You have no cleric, so healing and poison neutralizing potions will be essential. She can deliver these to you as a personal favor to me, and if she CHOOSES to go with you, then so much the better." He frowned as he saw Talindra do the same.

"We'll go as soon as we can prepare," said Sylvie, "just let Arvenyana know what's going on, and that we should be staying with the Daisypetals just outside of Corm Orp, near the Ladyhouse. Anyone at the Ladyhouse can surely point the way there." She felt a little sad because she sensed Talindra was trying to get rid of them more than trying to help them.

A couple of hours later, after finding the staff was still active implying that the _stasis sphere_ was still intact, they gathered their possessions and said a final goodbye to Alariana. Then the party of Panwyr, Merla, Sylvie, and the familiar Faelar were magically transported to a dirt road surrounded by low grassy hills in the late afternoon of early autumn not far from Corm Orp. All were resolved to see this through, but only Sylvie felt particularly sure that this would end well.

Though sad at the lack of welcome at the Ilphustacia hold, Sylvie's heart picked up as she recognized the fields of the hin already in sight, along with the very small hamlet where most of the local humans stayed called Corm Orp not so far away. The trees around them had leaves that were changing from green to scarlet and gold. She could already make out a few burrows of the hairfoots, with hogs and chicken running free range near more than one, as well as people going about their lives there.

The Daisypetals were only a few minutes of walking beyond that away, and she led the party in that direction. She skipped a moment in delight at the beauty of the day shining around them and wondered how long until The Reaping. Hin would travel from all around for the ten day festival, including the Tealeafs that had helped raise her in the Trielta Hills. Many happy memories came back to her, and she hoped to be able to see her hin friends and foster family again before doing whatever it was she and her friends would do once they got her mother back from Darkhold.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14: The Fine Line Between Duty & Treachery**

After Talindra got the party through her magic mirror and shut down the portal, she sighed with a heavy heart. She was not sure she was doing the right thing. She slowly walked over to a window of pink crystal she normally kept closed and opened it. Her familiar Myzzand, a winged cat called a tressym, was grooming a wing. Getting tressym as a familiar was harder than getting a more ordinary animal, like Sylvie's cat, as a familiar, but well worth it in Talindra's opinion.

"Is the minimage and her cat gone?" asked Myzzand.

"Yes, they have gone."

Myzzand flew into Talindra's magic room and settled himself near her. "You got rid of them. This is good. Why so glum?"

"Because I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing."

"Why not?"

Talindra sighed, shaking her head. "The Helmites I talked to yesterday claimed to be a part of a group called the Harmonium. I tested them in the trite verbal sparring humans come to expect and found them to be determined fanatics willing to do anything if they saw it as their duty."

"How bad can a group into harmony be?"

"They work with baatezu."

Myzzand's fur suddenly ruffled. "No humans work with baatezu, especially if they're interested in harmony."

"Exactly. The lessons of Hellgate Keep are still fresh. The foolish wizard that bound a baatezu in Ascalhorn to help him against his social and magical rivals found himself a tool instead of the master, and soon almost all the wizards had baatezu advisors, too. Then the devils began convincing them to give up their soul and pursue lichdom or other means of undeath to increase their power and scaring the others who didn't by pointing out how much more powerful their rivals would be if they didn't also accept undeath. After that, the baatezu ruled the city openly through their mortal masters that had been changed into undead servants."

"I thought Hellgate Keep had been populated by tanar'ri?"

Talindra nodded. "The few mortal wizards left tried calling on the baatezu's ancient enemies, the tanar'ri, and the Blood War came to Ascalhorn. The demons won, and killed the wizards with the power to send them back to the Abyss, and they became the rulers of Ascalhorn. It was fortunate that by the time the fighting was over the elves had put the mythals in place that kept the tanar'ri bound to the city itself, now renamed Hellgate Keep. At least until those adventurers sponsored by High Lady Alustriel finally broke the tanar'ri grip on the fallen city."

Myzzand gave Talindra a puzzled look. "And this Steeleye openly admitted to working with fiends?"

Talindra gave Myzzand a troubled look. "He was so sure that anything done in the name of his duty was correct, even working with devils. He also said that we'd come to 'understand,' implying that they have plans on assimilating us into their collective harmony."

Myzzand shuddered, even his wings trembling a moment. "These Harmonium guys are as arrogant, and doomed, as the humans that thought they could work with baatezu in Ascalhorn."

"They will pay for their hubris," agreed Talindra, "but how many innocents will have to pay with them?"

"Don't you think this is your concern as a Warder?"

"Of course it's my concern," said Talindra. "And I am dealing with it, at least for the immediate future, but at a price that troubles me."

"What price? You mean Panwyr and Sylvie?" When Talindra nodded, he pointed out, "Hey, if they broke their laws, then they've made their own bed. Don't let them make us lie in it with them!"

"But to hand anyone over to a group working with baatezu violates the values on which the Silver Marches is founded."

"Look," said Myzzand, "how many enemies does the Silver Marches have? An army of lycanthropes in the Moonwood that have declared war on civilization itself, growing numbers of attacks by orcs and giants and drow, demonic elves and orcs that escaped the fall of Hellgate Keep, the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan, the Red Wizards of Thay, the Zhentarim, and now you want to add this group as well?"

"Of course not," said Talindra, "but if it's discovered I handed over prisoners to a group corrupted by the baatezu, it will be a black mark on my record as Warder for Silverymoon, I can expect less cooperation with the Harpers, and Alariana and her Arvenyana would never forgive me. Not even the High Mage of the city would hand over evil creatures to those devils, infamous for their cruel laws, tortures, and tyrannical legal systems." She silently added, _And he's a human, how can I be less upright than him?_

"Be that as it may," said Myzzand, "Panwyr was always a vagabond, I'm surprised he's still alive at all. And as for his daughter, I'm not even sure WHAT a kender is anyway, but it's obvious to me that these kender are a race of beings that the Silver Marches is better off without, and your clan is better off not having any blood relations to. And remember when I was having a little fun with her familiar and she cast a flying spell on her cat so that he could fly even better than me!? She's outrageous. There's a reason why I choose to not be with you whenever you speak to that ridiculous minimage and her silly cat. Your clan and your kingdom are better off without them."

"That's what the Harmonium said."

"That she's a ridiculous minimage with a silly cat?"

"That our clan and the Silver Marches would be better off without them."

"Hey," said Myzzand, "just because they're evil or foolish doesn't mean they're always wrong. And if you get rid of the Harmonium, you get rid of another potential Hellgate Keep."

"You're right, of course," sighed Talindra. "I'll just have to learn to live with the guilt." She smiled a little as Myzzand rubbed up against her, purring. Then her expression grew grim as she said, "But what I CANNOT do is give Alariana and Arvenyana to the Harmonium as well, so this must be done on the sly, before they can inadvertently become involved."

Myzzand added, "And if Arvenyana does go after Panwyr and Sylvie have been taken away by the Harmonium, she'll just assume they were taken by the Zhents. Even if she goes in to look for them, she should be able to figure out they're not there anymore and return, assuming the worst, with a few more Zhents killed in the process. No Panwyr, no Sylvie, the Harmonium gone, and Arvenyana kills a bunch of Zhents over it, so I'd say the Silver Marches wins."

Talindra nodded. "And Arvenyana will have the magic that the Harpers give her for the party about to infiltrate Darkhold, so she will be well prepared." She shook her head. "But still, I am with heavy heart at what I'm doing. If it were truly the right thing, why am I going about it in secret?"

"Because your sister and her daughter are fools who choose sentiment over the wiser course," said Myzzand.

"Then why do I feel shame at what I'm doing?"

To that Myzzand had no answer but to give cuddly comfort.

A little while later, Talindra met with the Harmonium at the House Invincible at the appointed time.

Steeleye Bor greeted her formally and politely before asking, "Have you any help to give us in resolving this matter?"

Talindra nodded grimly. "The people you seek are in Corm Orp, where they will await our bladesinger to join them in about a tenday, delivered to her destination by my magic. Before this happens you will have concluded your business and there will be no sign as to where they were taken, nor identify yourselves to anyone there as members of the Harmonium."

"The halfling thorp that exports the pottery?" asked Steeleye Bor. As Talindra nodded, he nodded in turn, saying, "As you wish, Talindra Starblossom. I am aware where Corm Orp is and we can get them on the morrow with ease. As one officer of the law to another, you have my thanks."

"Know this," said Talindra with a pregnant calm. "I will look the other way on this matter, but should you ever come to threaten our bladesinger Arvenyana, or anyone else in my clan, you will face the collective wrath of my clan, the Harpers, and many powerful wizards who will not wish to see any group foolish enough to think they can work with baatezu without being corrupted of ever being able to threaten this world. I will leave here forthwith to do my lawful duty as Warder of the Spellguard and report your presence and that you work with devils, and within the hour not even the Vigilant Master will welcome you here. Be gone from this city and never return."

Measure Tyrm, wondering on whether they should attempt to stop the arrogant elf, was about to say something harsh over her rude dismissal of him, his faction, and his superior officer when the elf turned and vanished with sparkles of what appeared to be dancing motes of moonlight. He shook his head and silently vowed, _Oh, we'll be back, and I'll see to it that your clan is put to the sword, not even given the chance of redemption._

Steeleye Bor turned to Measure Tyrm with a grim expression. "This area has a history involving a fallen city the locals call Hellgate Keep, and have long battled fiends through the centuries. I'm afraid she's right that we will not be welcome here, and the last thing the Harmonium needs are the Harpers, along with High Lady Alustriel, singling us out as another force to be countered. As the elven Warder said, we won't even be welcome in this church. Not until they can be made to understand why the Harmonium is always right." Having spent so much time in the Outer Planes these last few years, he did not know that Hellgate Keep had been neutralized as a threat, but his words were still true enough.

"Understanding will come to them in time," said Measure Tyrm confidently. "But for now we return to Arcadia and ready the troops for arresting the fugitives in Corm Orp."

Steeleye Bor repressed a shudder as he saw the ghost of a smile tug at Measure Tyrm's lips that bespoke more of eager malice than ideals of harmony. But he knew the Harmonium was always right, and wise in all things, so he would not fail to do his duty to Helm and the Harmonium.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15: Halfling Hospitality**

The Daisypetal home was up ahead, and they could see the hills covered with cared-for wildflowers, shrubs, and fruit-producing trees that covered the view of the Ladyhouse beyond that. They'd gotten curious stares, including from members of the small human militia, as they approached, but no one thought a hairfoot with a half-elf and what appeared to be his daughter were from Darkhold. Indeed, it would not be unreasonable to assume that one or more of them were Harpers, steadfast allies against Darkhold. In any case, they only got polite greetings and welcoming smiles as they made their way to the Daisypetals.

Most of the burrows they saw were set in the hillsides facing the south so that they warmed to the sun in autumn and winter, and grew an overhanging fringe of grass to shade the doors (many emblazoned with the sign of the daisy) and windows in summer when the sun was high. Many grew flowers, especially daisies, as well as having carefully tended and protected gardens just outside their burrows.

Trees and shrubs of all kinds were also evident, as were chickens, pheasants, and even hogs that roamed free, some even on top of the grass-covered burrows (actually the hillside itself that the burrows were in). The Zhents from Darkhold surely feared the priestesses of The Green Sister (often called Sheela Peryroyl by humans) when they raided, for all of these would become potent weapons once affected by the magic of their goddess. The entire Sunset Vale, let alone Corm Orp, had many treetenders, greenfosters, and other clerics and mystics invested with divine power by the Green Sister. The prominence of daisies was just a testament on how many revered the goddess.

Indeed, even when the Zhents thought they could manage to achieve a surprise raid, they no doubt learned why the Green Sister was also known as the Watchful Mother, as well. Especially as the hin didn't show such dedication to any deity unless they knew the deity showed equal dedication to Her worshippers in return. And many were dedicated to the Green Sister here, even more so than to Yondalla the Protector. Some hin even talked of establishing a new hin kingdom here called Sheelaland, and their most revered greenfoster as the queen (she herself laughed this notion off, but it was testament to how much love and trust the hin had in their patron goddess).

Unlike the hairfoots (and gnomes and stouts that also lived here), the Daisypetals favored the traditional house of wood that tallfellows preferred, with many windows, artful panes of glass, and shutters with flowery designs engraved upon them. Currently, most of them were open to allow many breezes in, though a chimney showed that a fire was burning inside. As was usual, the house was spacious enough that its ceiling was almost six feet high, for which Panwyr was grateful. There was only a small garden plot on one side, along with flower beds around the home and a walkway to the door surrounded by its own flower bed of daisies, waving in a gentle breeze.

But rather than follow the walkway to the door, Sylvie took off to one side, with the others following bemused. Sylvie ran up to a tallfellow male who was appeared to be just passed his prime. He wore a long pointy green cap on his head of long blond hair, a yellow vest over a green tunic that was darker in shade than the cap, and brown trousers and pull on boots. He'd obviously been chopping wood, with a pile of split wood beside him, sweat on his brow, and an ax in one hand leaning on the ground. But at the moment he was stopped to talk with another tallfellow.

The other tallfellow was unusually muscular, and that, along with his long red hair, suggested a stout in his ancestry. He wore a yellow straw hat that kept his hair out of his face, along with a scarlet tunic and golden-hued pants, both in the shade of autumn leaves. He patted a brown pony with yellow mane beside him that was currently grazing at the grass. In addition to bit & bridle, slim saddle and saddlebags, was a hin warsling attached. Enough of a spear was obvious from the other side to know that was also attached to the pony. The red-haired tallfellow himself wore a short sword on one side.

Both were just over four feet tall, being about a foot taller than the more common hairfoot.

Sylvie ran to the one with the ax. "Hey, Jenkin!"

He blinked, and then remarked happily, "Sylvie, it's been a long time since I've seen you!" He nodded a welcome to Merla, but blinked in surprise as he recognized Panwyr. "Sylvie," he said introducing her to his friend, "This is Dalabrac."

"Just call me Dallie," he said, giving her hand a brief shake. "That's an odd-looking bow you have there, Sylvie."

"Oh, this," Sylvie replied, shrugging her sithak off. "It's a weapon used by my mother's people. It can shoot arrows of course, and when you need to defend yourself up close, or just want to help reap the harvest, these fold out." She unfolded two scythe blades on each end, causing Dallie to laugh. "Also," added Sylvie, "like all weapons made by my mother's people, they double as musical instruments." So saying, she began playing a tune on the string that did allow a few distinct notes.

Dallie was impressed. "That's amazing! So who are your mother's people anyway?"

"Kender," answered Sylvie. When he shook his head slightly to show he didn't understand, she added, "A race from another world."

"Ah," he said. The Realms were so full of portals to other worlds and planes of existence that strange and unknown immigrants were at least heard of by many of the locals. "Your mother's people sound mighty fine to me. So who are your friends?"

"This is my dad, this is my best friend Merla, and this is my cat Faelar."

After they'd all properly greeted each other, Dallie said, "I was just trying to get Jenkin here to go fishing with me tomorrow so as to be out of the women's way as they make their sweets." He gave a mock scowl as he added, "But he's insisting on making another toboggan for winter. Still plenty of time for that, I say."

Sylvie said to Jenkin. "As for your wood, I could summon an _unseen servant_ to chop wood tomorrow, if you like, and you work on the toboggan today, if you prefer."

Jenkin laughed. "You know, I just might do that." He considered what he already chopped. "I think that's enough applewood for what the ladies were wanting to help season some pies they were baking tomorrow anyway."

After Faelar spoke to Sylvie, she added, "My cat sure would like some fish."

"Don't be disappointing the cat," said Dallie with mock graveness.

"Ok," said Jenkin to Dallie, "if you help me with the toboggan today, I'll go fishing with you tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me, if you've got a place that Trixie can get water and some treats, as well as unloading her for awhile."

"Sure," said Jenkin easily. "Just follow me, the toboggan is out in the barn anyway. But don't let the raccoons startle you." Turning back to Sylvie and her friends, he said, "Why don't you just walk right on it. You know you're like family here." Patting her shoulder as he said the last, he joined Dallie and they began walking to the backyard of the house.

As they walked toward the front door, Merla commented, "They may not have the luxury of the Ilphustacia clan, but they sure do make up for it in hospitality." They could all feel the tension draining from them, something that never fully went away while they were with Panwyr's family. The daisies waving in the breeze brought an unconscious smile to them all.

Opening the door, Sylvie called out, "Knock, knock!" Though she entered, she and the others didn't actually leave the entryway. They immediately smelled the burning hickory wood, along with the fresh smells of apple jelly and sweet pear syrup.

Two young children, both obviously younger than ten, ran out of the kitchen but stopped at seeing those they weren't immediately familiar with. The girl had short strawberry blonde hair and green eyes and was wearing green overalls over a yellow shirt. Naturally, her feet were bare. The blond boy, looking slightly older and having longer hair, wore a sky blue tunic and green britches.

"Tara, Jarm, who is it?" asked a tallfellow from within the kitchen as she came to join them. Standing a little under four feet in height, she had light brown hair tied in the back with a yellow kerchief and was wearing a yellow shirtwaist dress. "Oh!" she said in surprise. "Sylvie! Come on in, and bring your friends!" So saying, she led them to the kitchen.

The kitchen was large, even for a hin dwelling, as well as warm and cozy, with the aroma of fragrant herbs, good cooking, and fresh bread in the air. A big fireplace dominated one side, with several racks holding cauldrons, kettles, and other pots and pans, that could be maneuvered directly into the fireplace. A large stove used in baking dominated another side. Both had multiple small piles of wood beside them, each pile obviously a different type of wood.

The other two sides, one with the doorway into the receiving room, the other dominated by many windows to outside and their shutters (all currently open), were filled with shelves holding dishware and foodstuffs, though Sylvie knew the bulk of both were in the cellar. The kitchen floor was covered with dry herbs used to soak up spills and crumbs as well as keeping the kitchen smelling clean and fresh.

In the center was a table that came up to the chests of the two blonde tallfellows standing with plenty of fruits and other cooking supplies around, and they were obviously working on filling and sealing jars with the fruits.

One wore a loose pink shirt with a green skirt that came down to just below her knees, both somewhat covered by a chestnut brown apron with daisy designs stitched in. A hair clip designed as a butterfly kept her hair held back. The other wore a tunic of mixed autumn colors (which Sylvie noticed were the same design as cooking mitts hanging on the wall near the oven) and a double-stringed brown apron, both of which reached to her knees. She wore a stringed hair band that kept her hair back.

In the kitchen, they all introduced themselves. The woman who greeted them was Sassafras ["just call me Sassy"], the one in a pink shirt was called Merriddee ["just call me Merry"], and the other was Tillie ["which happens to be my real name!"]. The two children, now getting on stools to help at the table, were Tara and Jarm.

"You'll have to forgive the mess," said Sassy, "we're filling crocks and bottles with jellies and jams for the coming Reaping festival."

"And the coming winter," added Tillie.

"Are you here for the festival? It's about a tenday away."

"I was hoping we could catch that!" said Sylvie in delight. "An aunt of mine should show up right after it starts and we can all enjoy it together!"

"Would you like to stay with us? We got a couple of spare rooms." Turning to Panwyr, she said, "You'll probably find it a bit cramped, but at least you won't hit your head."

"I'm sure it's comfy," he said chivalrously.

Faelar told Sylvie, "I thought jelly and jam were the same."

"No," said Sylvie to Faelar, "jelly is made with fruit juices while the jam is from crushed fruit."

"Hmph," said Faelar,. "I still don't see a difference. Not like goat milk and cow milk."

Sylvie then noticed that all the tallfellows were looking at her. She smiled and said, "So I speak to my cat. I swear I understand him, and he understands me."

As they shrugged that off, Sassy said, "Fairweather is always talking to Daisykin, too."

Sylvie brightened. "I'd really like to say hi to her!"

"She's in the front room," said Sassy. "Go on, say hi, let her know you're all here." Then looking to the boy, she said, "Jarm, after they say hi, show them to their rooms where they unload their stuff. No need to be meeting her wearing weapons."

"Unless the Zhents come acalling," said Tillie, a little darkly.

Merry said, "Let's not talk about that. We want the most positive energy to go into our food, and it's hard to do that while talking about the Devouring Shadow."

Somehow, the mere mention of Zhents at Darkhold, known to the local hin as "The Devouring Shadow" or "The Shadow that Devours," was enough to dampen their spirits, at least temporarily.

Sassy changed that subject. "Tomorrow we'll be making cookies, cakes, and pies, if you'd like to help with that."

"If the cakes are made with trout or bass," said Faelar, though only Sylvie heard and understood him, and this time she didn't respond.

"That would be great!" said Merla. After all, free cookie batter and cake frosting was free cookie batter and cake frosting. And they'd all be sampling it as they made sweets. It was just expected.

"Sure," said Sylvie, "but I promised Jenkin to call an _unseen servant_ to chop wood tomorrow, and I'll have to remain by the woodpile while it chops wood." Seeing them look surprised, she added, "That was so he could work on a toboggan today and go fishing tomorrow."

"Ah," said Sassy, "well, save one of those servants for us, too!" Giggles followed. "Anyway, let Jarm show you to your rooms."

Fairweather was in front of yet another fireplace, much smaller than the one in the kitchen, and from here the hickory burned as she kept her bare feet, blonde fuzz on top of them, pointed toward it while resting on a footstool. Like her husband Jenkin, she was past her prime, but still healthy enough. Right now she was knitting, her needles making a clacking sound as they knit. She was excited to see them, but kept on knitting as Jarm took them to their rooms and they spent a little time freshening up.

Soon they were back in the front room with Fairweather, surrounded by items of comfort: rugs, carpets, pillows, cushioned furniture, and a rocking chair. On the mantelpiece above the hearth was a collection of pipes that belonged to Jenkin, a habit he'd picked up from his gnome friends (while many hairfoots liked to smoke a pipe, most tallfellows had better sense, or so Sylvie, Faelar, and Panwyr liked to think).

Merla stretched out on a large pillow with a pinwheel design of amber heath and chestnut brown, and a much smaller floral pillow in the shape of a rabbit behind her head. Panwyr sat on another cushion by a large window, glancing out from time to time, instinctively scanning for trouble. Faelar laid near the fire purring contentedly. Sylvie sat on the rocking chair, rocking in it.

Fairweather Daisypetal was in a cushioned chair by the fireplace, her bare feet on a footstool, and a small green pillow behind her head. Even inside, she wore a small yellow wool cap that kept her slightly graying blonde hair out of her eyes, but allowed it to flow free behind her. She wore a long green wool cardigan with tiny yellow butterfly pattern on it and wooden buttons shaped and painted in the form of daisies. A darker forest green skirt reached down to her ankles and was held up by a chestnut brown belt. Her bare feet set by the fire showed a slight fuzz of foot fur as fair as on her head.

"It's going to be a long, hard winter," she said. "The husks on the corn rarely get as thick as they have this harvest, hornets have built their paper nests high in the eaves so they'll be out of deep snow and the woolly worms are furrier this year, and their marks say harsh winter. Even Daisykin is looking woollier than usual at this time of year."

Merla asked, "Daisykin?"

In response, a large dog, taller than even Fairweather, came trotting in. A tall, sleek brown hound, he sniffed briefly at everyone before going up to Fairweather. Faelar held perfectly still but showed no sign of distress, trusting in his wizard to quickly save him if that became necessary.

"Yes, we're talking about you," Fairweather said, pausing in her knitting to pet the hound. "So we're getting ready while there's still time. I'm making a scarf for Jarm. I'm making all kinds of scarfs and mittens for the kids. You know how they grow. And I'm sure you saw Jenkin out there splitting wood." She smiled reassuringly at them. "Don't worry, we have time. And I've never seen a winter yet where we weren't prepared."

As Daisykin went to investigate the kitchen, Fairweather asked, "So what brings you here? The Reaping?"

"That," said Sylvie, "and business in Darkhold."

Fairweather's knitting stopped as she froze. "Again," she said, and she was not pleased. Now she gazed at Panwyr.

"Mom might still be alive," said Sylvie. "And other innocents with her."

"If they're alive, they're insane by now, and death a mercy they've been denied, the only freedom they'll have left to look forward to."

"No," said Sylvie, "they've been asleep, protected from aging. Once we release them, they'll think it was still all those years ago when they were first imprisoned."

"The Shadow that Devours ravages everything it touches, spreading fear and corruption. Why would you willingly walk into its ravenous maw? Why?"

"Because there are innocents that should be freed, such as hin, elves, and Harpers."

Fairweather sighed, shaking her head. "If there are innocents there, then it would be nice if they were rescued. I pity anyone who falls into the grasping hands of the Devouring Shadow." Fixing Sylvie with a meaningful look that told her to be careful, she said again, "Anyone."

Panwyr spoke up. "A question if I may." When Fairweather told him to go ahead, he asked, "Why didn't you or any of those at the Ladyhouse send Sylvie to my family in Silverymoon like I asked?"

Fairweather snorted. "Please, it was bad enough when you and your wife dropped little Sylvie off with me running from those Hellriders, but when you two then went into Darkhold, and you came back reeking of spirits saying your wife was dead and the Devouring Shadow was after you, we all agreed that you didn't have the sense to decide what was best for Sylvie."

"They're her family," insisted Panwyr, "our clan has holdings in Silverymoon, Deepingdale, and Evereska. Some of our clan have even resided in distant Chethel of Luiren for generations! They're wealthy and powerful and could protect her from the Zhents if they came after her. Surely, you could've taken her to any of them, or even handed her over when you did business with my clan." He didn't mention the clan on Evermeet, as not only were they the most insular, but those who were of impure elven blood were expressly forbidden from going there, a concessions made to the gold elves who feared such taint corrupting elven bloodlines.

Fairweather answered as she shook her head gently. "Your clan are good customers, and one of the very few families of any of the Big Folk that we're willing to make trading arrangements with, as they don't make demands on us other than telling us what they're most likely to buy and for how much. They give us a fair price, I'll give them that. But they were inappropriate for raising a child whose blood was only a quarter elf. They'd have treated her as an outcast."

"My mother was quite fond of her," said Panwyr, "and they remain close to this day."

"Birds have better sense than your mother, and the rest of your clan would either despise or pity your daughter for her mixed blood, incapable of giving her the love she deserves. So I decided that I'd leave her with the Tealeafs. There was little danger for so curious and daring a child to get herself killed by, they weren't threatened by the Devouring Shadow, she'd be fully accepted, and as she got older, she could join one of our caravans to meet with her family."

"Granny Alariana seems pretty nice," said Sylvie.

"Your father didn't fall far from THAT tree. I stand by what I say: your family was unfit to raise a child as intensely curious and outspoken as yourself, either through their callousness or through their addled wits!" She shook her head, saying, "If I've done wrong, I sincerely apologize, but I'll only accept I've done wrong if Sylvie says I have."

Sylvie went up and hugged her. "Thank you, Fairweather. I'll always treasure the memories of you, the Daisypetals, Corm Orp, and the Tealeafs of the Trielta Hills. There's not a shred of doubt in my mind that my life was better growing up here than with the Ilphustacia clan in Silverymoon or Evereska."

"See?" said Fairweather to Panwyr, as Syvlie kept on hugging her. "You too-talls have your heads up too high to see the ground clear enough below you. But we know what we're doing." Looking to Sylvie, she asked, "Don't we?"

"Why ask me?" asked Sylvie pulling back.

"Don't you know?" asked Fairweather.

"Is it because this is the Question Game?"

"Can't you see that it is?"

"You think it's better to assume instead of asking questions?"

Fairweather chuckled. "You never tired of this game?"

"Whatever do you mean by 'never,' Fairweather?"

"Can't you figure that out for yourself?"

"Do you think…"

"ENOUGH!" shouted Panwyr. "Can't you just trade riddles?"

Merla asked, "What's his problem?"

Fairweather asked, "Where do you want me to start?"

Sylvie asked, "Do you think he's just miffed at not having enough spirits to drink today?"

Merla asked, "Can't you guess?"

Sylvie asked, "Is this the Guessing Game or the Question Game?"

Panwyr pulled out his panpipes and began to play.

Fairweather asked, "Does he have to play so loudly?"

Merla asked, "Don't you like his music?"

Sylvie asked, "What do you think?"

Then Sylvie, Merla, and Fairweather broke out laughing as the tallfellow women, along with Jarm and Tara, came out, each bringing refreshments. Mugs illustrated with daisies and butterflies holding hot cider were passed around to all, along with homey red plates in earth tones that Corm Orp was famous for, each adorned with images of various birds, save for the ones handed to Sylvie and Panwyr. Sylvie was given a plate illustrated with two foxes, and Panwyr one with a raccoon's face. On each plate was sweet breads adorned with different types of jam, to taste test what had been canned so far.

"Can I get the recipe?" asked Sylvie to Sassy.

"Don't you have your own?" asked Sassy back.

Panwyr sighed. "I miss being around kender," he said softly, though he gripped his panpipes more firmly without thinking about it as he said this.

Three more tallfellows, two boys and a girl, all teens, then came in carrying large baskets full of blueberries. "Where do you want these?" asked the oldest boy.

Sassy answered, "On the table." As the teens went into the kitchen, she remarked happily, "That's more than enough for more jam AND pies tomorrow."

They soon came back in with their own mugs of hot cider and plate of breads with jam. The oldest boy, Benden, wore a brown pointy cap over his shoulder-length blond hair, and a pumpkin orange mid-calf length smock-frock. A slightly younger girl named Charmaine had long red hair in a ponytail held by a purple hair ribbon beneath her stylish wool beret dyed green, brown cuffs on her wrist, and wore a green tunic dress and yellow arm covers and leg warmers that left her bare feet (and their sparse red fuzz) bare, showing a silver anklet and toe ring on her right side. The youngest was a boy named Filbert, with curly brown hair (looked to be more hairfoot than tallfellow) wearing an open green jacket showing a yellow shirt inside and brown trousers, and brown foot fur thicker than the others

Charmaine took off her beret and hair ribbon, asking Sylvie to help her make a topknot like her own before going off to examine herself in the mirror. When she came back, she asked about the fashion, and Sylvie told them all of Kendermore. The ones not yet adults were all curious to hear about the kender on Krynn (and beyond), with Merla and Panwyr adding their own observations and experiences. But as they shared about kender they met and saw at The Gauntlet, the tallfellows--including the adults-- were even more fascinated by the "rhemoraz worm milk" Sylvie and Merla had shared together in Arborea. Then Merla began sharing about her grandmother on her mother's side, Vera Daisypetal in Vineshade, a distant relation to the Daisypetals in Corm Orp, and Fairweather had personally met her many years ago during a past Reaping festival.

And Sylvie no longer regretted being a _persona non grata_ in the Ilphustacia clan. This was warmth and comfort and love, and most of all home, and no elven luxury or magic could compare to it. She hoped Arvenyana met up with the rest of them in time for the Reaping celebration so she could share it with one of the few Ilphustacias that ever showed her love and acceptance without pity for her mixed blood.

Outside the Autumn moon was already up as twilight came. It was such a peaceful sunset that it was easy to forget about such threats as Darkhold, aka The Shadow that Devours, let alone the Harmonium left behind on another plane of existence. The tension melted from Sylvie and she thought happily of tomorrow, helping the Daisypetals with her spells. For a short while at least, she and her friends were safe and life was perfect. In her heart she was certain that nothing could go wrong. Nothing at all.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16: FLOWER POWER

They came in full regalia, 30 Notaries led by Measure Tyrm and his assistants (both lesser Measures) Steeleye Bors and the war wizard Dundragon, all but the wizard wearing full plate, riding armored war horses, and carrying an assortment of weapons. Each of them had a bastard sword, and all of them magically enhanced by wands of _keen edge_ just before coming here, and some already magical. All the men had been touched by wands bearing _mage armor_, _protection from arrows_ and _stoneskin_ as well. Finally, the 3 Measures all had a _magic circle against chaos_ cast upon them. One extra horse carried exotic supplies such as _planar mancatchers_ and _shifter manacles_ to foil planeshifting and teleporting. The coat of arms and badges they all carried identified them plainly as Harmonium troops to anyone familiar with them.

Romamman dismissed the moon elf's concerns in Silverymoon who wanted the Harmonium to disguise themselves to prevent a niece of hers from pursuing them, pointing out that if any were foolish enough to interfere with their lawful duties, they'd just become the next order of business that would have come after them eventually anyway. Therefore they would approach openly. And as for halflings, everyone knew that while they were clever, they only rarely had the ability to withstand the might of a faction as powerful as the Harmonium. Hearing that it was a small hamlet unremarkable save for some pottery, Romamman authorized extreme measures, if necessary, to apprehend the fugitives.

The plan was sound. They'd find her through spells to detect chaos and magic as well as asking around. Once located, Steeleye Bors would attempt to cripple her and her accomplices with a powerful clerical spell infused with the power of the planes of Law that was harshly damaging to those who didn't possess lawful alignments, before calling upon the protection domain granted by his god and surrounding himself with an _antimagic field_ and engaging the wizard in melee. Meanwhile, the war wizard Dundragon would cast a spell that would allow him to see through all illusions before using the _wand of dispel magic_ loaned to him by Romamman to foil any of the half-kender's spells he failed to counterspell, as well as provide any other magical support needed. Measure Tyrm himself had a ring that returned spells back upon the wizard—it didn't do anything about spells that affected an area, like a fireball, but a lightning bolt or charm person or phantasmal killer would be returned onto the wizard as if Measure Tyrm himself had cast it while leaving him unharmed, which would likely prove to be a nasty shock to the fugitive wizard. And all the while the Notaries were to seize her and her companions in the _planar mancatchers_. Naturally, they were all prepared to deal with a hamlet of halflings should that be necessary, too.

It was a simple, elegant plan thought up by Romamman, but Romamman came up with something special in case she proved to be a bigger problem than expected, a "gift" that Tyrm devoutly hoped he was able to give, along with a nasty and painful surprise of his own devising that he'd used on spellslingers before.

Raised in the orderly splendor of Arcadia, Tyrm cared little for the unnatural trees on this prime world in their autumn shades, nor for the free range chickens and hogs that paid only enough attention to them so as to not be stepped on. A few pheasants, guineas, and turkeys also roamed free but even less noteworthy, as was the occasional goat and lamb. However, they did take note of the many dogs that barked, and were impressed that such dogs showed enough restraint to not actually approach. Measure Tyrm himself regretted that Romamman was against bringing any 2-headed Aoskian hounds, but he had pointed out that such were unlikely to be useful against the half-kender wizard and that "halflings have a way with dogs."

Measure Tyrm signaled his men to a halt as he came upon an armed, black-haired halfling in leather next to two black mastiffs taller than he was, sitting on each side behind him. He frowned at two older halflings on a nearby porch playing a banjo and a harmonica and tried to ignore them as he asked, "Sir, you interfere with my lawful duty. Either stand aside or draw your sword."

"Good day to you," said the halfling, "and forgive the intrusion, but it's my job as sheriff to ask you what business you have to bring such heavily armed and armored men into our fair town."

Measure Tyrm's expression softened slightly. "Well met, then." Frowning again at the halfling musicians, he asked him, "Since you're the sheriff, can you make them stop while we talk? I find their music disruptive."

"Of course," said the sheriff. Turning to the halfling musicians, he yelled out, "Alton! Jaq! Take a break until we're done here!"

"Sorry, sheriff!" shouted the one with the banjo. The two stopped playing and began drinking from wineskins, and one lit a pipe.

"And that is that," said the sheriff pleasantly. "Forgive them, but you've arrived just before a festival and they want to be at their best."

Measure Tyrm nodded. "I hope we can be out of your way within the hour. We are on the lookout for dangerous outlaws that we believe are hiding in this very town. Only one is a halfling, by the name of Merla Bramblefoot. The other two are of elven blood, the male being half-human, the smaller female being half-kender. The female would have a black cat with her. As soon as I have these fugitives in my custody, I will return with my men from whence I came."

"Hey!" shouted the halfling with the harmonica on the porch, "Are you almost done?"

The sheriff sighed and told them loudly, "Go play somewhere else. We're busy." After watching the two halflings grumble and wander off, he turned back to Tyrm and asked, "Whence do you come?" As he saw Measure Tyrm frown, he added, "Forgive me, but I need to keep abreast to any political changes near our village, and I don't recognize you or your heraldry at all. Furthermore, we keep scouts to look out for groups such as yours approaching and yet they've given no word, and I am concerned for them."

Measure Tyrm nodded. "We are not of your world, and we arrived with the aid of powerful magic. Your scouts are safe and couldn't have possibly spotted us before we were already in sight of your village. We only mean to apprehend the fugitives and leave the same way we come." After a pause he added, "I mean no trouble, however, I am authorized to use extreme measures if I must to apprehend the fugitives."

"Authorized by whom?"

"By the Harmonium."

The sheriff blinked. "Who?"

An exasperated Tyrm simply said, "A large organization that spans planes and worlds from elsewhere. Our goal is universal harmony."

"A laudable goal," replied the sheriff. "But I'd think you're out of your jurisdiction then. And you're so heavily armed and armored, more than I'd think three fugitives would require."

"They're especially dangerous and crafty. They've escaped from me once already and I don't intend to let that happen again."

The sheriff sighed. "If you could please go to the inn and stable, I'll see if I can't find your fugitives for you. If I find them, I'll send one of my deputies to let you know and we'll work together at resolving this as peacefully as we can and with as little disruption as possible."

"If these fugitives were less worthy of our time, I'd agree with your proposal. But we have magic and means geared specifically for finding and apprehending the fugitives. You're welcome to accompany us, but I mean for us to capture them, with or without your cooperation and consent."

"Do you hear the dogs barking?" asked the sheriff.

Measure Tyrm blinked at the question. "Of course I do. I commend your village on producing dogs that guard well but are disciplined enough not to attack."

"They rarely bark so," said the sheriff. "Only when they smell well-oiled armor and horses do they carry on so. They've come to associate such smells with death and tragedy. We all have. In our experience, almost all such men who come here are from Darkhold, or are sponsored by them."

Dundragon spoke up. "Measure Tyrm, if I may? Cormyr has helped them in the past." As Tyrm nodded, Dundragon approached, just minutely behind Tyrm but otherwise beside him, and said, "Good sheriff, I am War Wizard Dundragon of Cormyr. As we have often clashed with Darkhold ourselves, I assure you that we are no such raiders, and we are allies against Darkhold."

The sheriff blinked. "I thought the Harmonium was from 'elsewhere,' but now you're saying y'all are from Cormyr?" He rubbed in chin as he tried sorting this out.

"Nay," answered Dundragon. "I am from Cormyr. How I cam to join the Harmonium is a long story, and I've been assigned to help apprehend the fugitives as I'm familiar with this world. Surely you can allow an ally against Darkhold into your fair town?"

The sheriff frowned. "King Azoun, and thus Cormyr, isn't well thought of around here. He made a peace treaty with the Zhentarim which allowed Darkhold to take away forces previously guarding against your nation and its agents, and focus them instead on us. So I wouldn't go telling anyone else you were from Cormyr if I were you."

Dundgragon blinked. "That was necessary to achieve the alliance that stopped the Tuigan horde!"

"Seems when it was all said and done everyone but the Zhents were weaker. But them Zhents were stronger than ever and acted with impunity that still grates harshly upon our memories." The sheriff shook his head. "No, we've always had to look to ourselves for our own defense. Evereska has helped us a few times, but even their help is fickle."

Measure Tyrm frowned as he saw over a score of humans, all on foot, approach. They did not have the same quality of arms or armor as his own men, wearing only chainmail that were marked with green strips around their right arms and left thighs and carrying standard long swords, and they didn't appear to have any priest or spellslinger at all. They were clearly no match for him and his men. They seemed to realize they were outclassed, for they stopped where they could quickly duck behind shelter and kept their weapons sheathed. The apparent leader nodded at the sheriff. "You were delaying us," said Tyrm in a voice unconsciously laced with menace.

"I'm doing my job," said the sheriff, "which is trying to keep this village safe from heavily armed and mounted men such as yourselves. I will help you find the fugitives you seek, but our history demands that we take as many precautions as we can against such strangers as yourself."

Senior Steeleye Bors spoke up unexpectedly. "How come I don't hear those musicians?" When the sheriff shrugged, he insisted, "They didn't go to another porch to play, they alerted the militia and are even now alerting the entire populace to our presence. And they left right after we stated our business."

Measure Tyrm swore. "Out of my way, or I'll consider you accomplices to the fugitives I seek! Again, I say, I've been authorized to use extreme measures, and in case you don't know, your pathetic rabble and human militia are no match for us."

The sheriff moved out of the way, snapping the fingers on each hand which brought the war dogs with him. As the Harmonium passed, he shouted out, "You're right, we'd suffer too much if we fight you, and we don't know how many more like you might come even if we do defeat you. But keep in mind that it never was our martial might that kept Darkhold at bay, but our flower power!"

"Flower power?" Measure Tyrm shook his head in bemusement as he led his men past the sighing sheriff who was patting his dogs. It seemed ever since he'd gone into Arborea, his life had become one chaotic mess in which Harmonium rules just weren't very clear on. But remembering the history on how easily the Harmonium had conquered the halflings on Ortho, he wasn't too concerned.

He felt as fearless as a kender as he left the town proper into the grassy hills covered with daisies and filled with halfling burrows where many halflings watched them, curious but wary. None hindered them and most got well out of the way as he and his men approached. He instructed his priest and wizard to cast their divinations to detect magic and chaos in order to help finding the fugitives.

The area seemed peaceful enough, Tyrm had to grudgingly admit to himself, but orchards and crops (some which appeared to be little more than "cultivated woodlands" or even just a collection of weeds or wildflowers) were allowed to grow in chaotic patterns, animals were allowed to spread their filth, many seemed to appreciate their break times, and dogs off leashes and out of fences, though they did nothing more to harass him and his men than bark from a distance. Seeing how many halflings walked barefoot, he wondered how many of them suffered from diseases and parasites.

He dismissed the halfling woman on a pony who stared at him with open curiosity as she crossed his path and blew away a butterfly that seemed to be thinking of landing on his nose. He hoped none of his men had allergies. He wondered again how this village could supposedly hold off this Darkhold he'd heard of from the natives of this world without being in league with them.

As he continued, the infectious peacefulness even lulled him into daydreaming, and not even about apprehending the fugitives, but about Corm Orp and the burrows under Harmonium protection. He envisioned orderly rows of trees, neatly divided parcels of land for growing clearly labeled crops, halflings working and without smoking those obnoxious pipes as some were doing now, footware for hygiene, and the gratitude for the Harmonium that protected them from Darkhold, until the evil fortress could be converted into a a Citadel of Peace for the Harmonium, of course.

"Over there!" shouted the Steeleye Bors. "I see a black cat with an aura of chaos!"

"Where?" asked Measure Tyrm, eagerness blooming within him, his daydreams discarded and forgotten.

"He's gone now," replied Bors.

"But almost certainly the spellslinger's familiar, then," added Dundgragon. "The cat being a familiar would have the wizards alignment. No normal cat would radiate chaos."

Measure Tyrm nodded. "Men, to me!" They reformed their ranks into proper formation that had somehow become more casual and now rode much more slowly, vigilant and alert.

Measure Tyrm gave the signal to halt as he passed a burrow where an old woman, gray hair in a bun, worked on harvesting her onions. Her door was open, suggesting she wasn't the type who had anything to hide, and she didn't flee from him, which suggested she'd done nothing wrong and had a clear conscience.

"Excuse me, goodwife," said Measure Tyrm with as much graciousness as he could. As the halfling looked up at him, his shadow shading her from the high sun, he asked, "Have you by chance seen two hooligans of moon elf blood recently? A female would have a cat and pretend to be younger than she is. The other is a male and is often seen carrying a rapier."

In a particularly rustic way of talking, she grated out, "Can't say I has."

"A black cat, then? This would be a cat that does not belong here."

"Pah! Cats belong anywhere they want. Now could you stop blocking my sunlight?"

Measure Tyrm didn't believe it for a second. No matter how many planes or worlds he visited, the elderly, especially the women, were quick to notice and talk about strangers, usually in a criticizing manner. In addition, she wasn't actually saying she hadn't seen them, she was evading the question! "Goodwife," said Tyrm in a voice he'd been trained to use a few times a day to compel someone's actions as an extraordinary ability that seemed almost supernatural, "Tell me what you know of the recent arrivals of moon elf blood."

The old halfling looked at him severely then. "I know that you be a very rude young man who is in for a world o' hurt if ye don't stop abusing the hospitality of our shire this instant!"

Frustrated, Measure Tyrm guided his horse away from the old halfling's home and boomed out to all the shire, "Has ANYONE seen three new arrivals, two of them of moon elf blood, one with a black cat?" When no one answered him, he turned to Dundragon and said, "Burn the old halfling's onion patch." Romamman had said that if one wanted to intimidate the halflings, attacking their food was the best way to do it.

Dundragon pulled his _staff of fire_ strapped to his barded war horse and pointed it at the onion patch. He said, "Excuse me, ma'am, but I'd advise you to move."

The old halfling woman blanched, stood up quickly and started to ask if he was insane while at the same time about to tell him to stop. But before she could decide on what to say, he muttered a phrase and brought his hands together, his right hand still holding the bronzewood staff with brass bindings. A sheet of flame flew from his fingers into her patch, causing her to jump back startled. Not only were her onion plants incinerated, but the sheet of flames also got her basket which had collected many onions. What was left was a smoldering ruin as she screamed.

Measure Tyrm shouted for all the halflings to hear. "I'm going to keep asking until I find them. Whenever you ignore me or say you don't know, I'm going to burn more crops! Now, where are the two people of moon elf blood who recently arrived here!?"

Dundragon blinked as he felt the magic in his staff assaulted. He jerked his head back to the old halfling in startlement and noticed that she was motioning and muttering while staring intently at his staff. "Quench spell!" he shouted in panic as he made sense of her gestures. A spell mostly used by druids and priests of nature gods, it was used to put out fires, but could also permanently destroy the magic within fire-creating magic items, including his much prized _staff of fire_.

Fortunately, the magic of his staff endured and the halfling's spell was wasted. As she began motioning again, he sent 5 spell bolts of magical energy careening into her with a flick of his hand, dropping her to the ground and ruining her spell. She rolled, came up screeching and within moments had turned into an owl flying away.

"Not so tough, are you?" Then Dundragon turned to Tyrm. "Sir, I was just magically attacked by the old woman who is some kind of druid. Permission to show the customary example of how we handle such people."

Measure Tyrm had never heard of a halfling druid before, but he just wasn't surprised, and it helped to explain how she was able to resist the mind affecting tactic he had tried using on her. "Granted," he said.

Dundragon pointed his staff at the burrow home and shouted for all to hear, "Inflammaro!" A ball of plasma flew from the staff into the halfling's home through the open door and moments later the windows exploded outwards, the flower pots on the window sill fell burning, the now burning door fell off one hinge, and a flash gave way to smoke and fire. The sickening smell of burning flesh that came from the ruins indicated that animals or people had been inside. Dundragon was guessing it was one or more animals, given that the old witch was a druid.

Tyrm nodded, hoping this display would finally be enough to let them know that the Harmonium wasn't to be trifled with—and surely now that they knew the stakes they wouldn't risk losing more for the sake of a single halfling and couple of elven-blooded rogues. He returned his attention to the now quiet and seemingly abandoned shire (though the dog barks were manic at this point) and bellowed out, "No answer?"

A hidden halfling shouted, "Someone is coming to answer you!"

Tyrm simply replied in a loud voice, "He had better hurry." He shook his head. Human villages almost never gave him this much trouble. He hoped that he'd never need to negotiate with elves or halflings again, save with a sword.

He looked up expectantly as a barefoot halfling woman with a blue jay on one shoulder and chewing on piece of grass rode bareback on a large brown dog to the top of on one of the grassy hills, the roof of her home for all he knew. She wore a garland of daisies in her blonde hair and an intricately designed green dress with colorful designs of butterflies and flowers.

"Flower power?" asked Tyrm contemptuously.

"Indeed," she replied, her high pitched voice carrying. She took the blade of grass out of her mouth and with a gesture and a word it changed into a staff as the blue jay on her shoulder flew off with a high pitched gull-like scream.

Moments later , about a dozen barded black mastiffs the size of ponies, half of them bearing muscular and armored halfling fighters in saddles, passed her and began charging toward the Harmonium, the priestess behind them. Most of these warriors were bearing short swords that sparkled with a silver light but the one in the lead having a curving long sword, somehow wielded in one hand, the hilt looking as if it were made from a carved antler. Tyrm lost sight of the female halfling behind the warriors on huge dogs.

Measure Tyrm was stunned. "You've got to be kidding me!" Turning to his men, he yelled, "Arrows!" A few were sent and of those that hit, it was apparent they had their own _protection from arrows_. Other cries of dismay let him know that some found that their arrows were warping into unusable shapes before they could even fire them.

Then Dundragon sent another fireball from his staff into the dog riders. None were fully hit as they all dodged, but some were knocked and singed anyway. It was apparent that they had been magically warded against fire though it was only enough to keep them from getting killed by anything less than a direct hit. Not only that, but a _cloudburst _quickly formed over the few fires still burning from where the fireball exploded, showing the halflings were well prepared to deal with hostile fire magic. Still, these were but minor inconveniences for his war wizard, since if they had better sense they could let the fires burn and summoning forth a fire elemental as some enemy druids and clerics had done before against Harmonium forces.

Just as Measure Tyrm gave the order to brace their long spears against the charging foe, the chanting Bors finally manifested a glowing mace of force within his hand. He positioned himself in front of Tyrm in preparation to meet the enemy. That was until his horse suddenly decided it wanted nothing to do with him and began bucking wildly. Given that he was one of the few there without extensive training in riding a war horse, he was perhaps the least able to deal with it. He was eventually thrown, his horse abandoning him. He quickly stood and prepared to return to Measure Tyrm's side on foot when the tree nearest him swung out a branch and hit him in the face, again knocking him to the ground, this time spitting blood as he got up again, holding tight to his mace, and watching every tree around him warily.

Then as the mounted halflings should have clashed with the Harmonium, they split off surrounding them, the priestess behind a protective line of dog riders as she chanted, but now clearly seen because Dundragon used one of his magic rings to cast a cantrip to surround the priestess with glowing light, helping to clearly see where she was even when behind her warriors, though it was otherwise harmless to the priestess—at least, Measure Tyrm knew, until Dundragon cast his next fireball.

"Hold your ground!" shouted Tyrm. He feared they were trying to get them to break formation or lead them into an ambush, and he wasn't going to fall for such an amateur tactic.

He realized his mistake when one of his men screamed, having been grabbed by a tree. As Tyrm intended to guide his horse slightly to better see what was happening, he found his own horse was bound by creeping, fast growing vines that were already wrapping around his own legs. Even trees and shrubs were rapidly growing around him and his men, their limbs entangling them all as they grew.

The entire charge had merely been to buy time to cast some spells. And unlike regular _entanglement_ spells which he'd endured before, the plants KEPT ON growing and entangling! And worse, there seemed to be a malice guiding the plants as tree limbs slapped, vines choked, and one growing tree limb actually took Dundragon's _staff of fire_ away and were especially vigorous about seizing his limbs.

In shocked surprise, Measure Tyrm shouted, "Bors, I want a _dispel magic_, NOW!"

Suddenly, a volley of arrows and sling bullets came raining down on the exposed heads of him and his men, including Bors, the only one who was free of the entangling effects, but was having to dodge hostile trees as well as arrows and sling bullets. The magical protections all of his men had been protected by held and none of them were hurt. The halflings realized their immunity and wasted no more ammunition.

Then the trees and vines began to part for the old halfling woman now minus a home thanks to his order and the now bound Cormyrean war wizard. Her skin now had a brownish cast to it as if partially made of tree bark, but it may have just been a trick of the light. In any case, Measure Tyrm was sure she'd have a spell to protect her from fire effects this time. And the vines and branches closed behind her and seemed careful not to release anyone as she made her way to Dundragon. Climbing up the branches, she got next to his face and raised her hand as she spoke words ringing with divine power. Quills extended from the back of her hand and she lashed out. The broke off harmlessly against the _stoneskin_ still protecting Dundragon.

Shaking her head, she said, "Remember, I can take the form of any animal, as can other druids I know. Anyone of them you see could be me or an ally of mine. We'll be watching you, and when you're vulnerable, one of us will strike. That's assuming you get out of this alive at all. If Honored Mother Alliya Macanester still has that spell ready that calls forth bugs to eat the flesh from your bones, I'm going to ask she use it." Having said this, she left the way she came.

Measure Tyrm didn't like the sound of that and redoubled his efforts to break free of the entanglements, a seemingly impossible task as once he did break free, the foliage would seize him yet again. Having seen the spell described by the halfling druid before, he knew that there was no way their _stoneskins_ would outlast the damage the horrid bugs would do, and they had to get out of this trap! By the time it was over, most of his men would be dead or wishing they were, and not able to do much to stop the halflings from finishing them off anyway. The only one to survive it unscathed would be him, given that he wore magic _plate armor of invulnerability_ that made it impossible for him to be hurt save by direct magical damage, magic weapons of any kind, or a significant mundane blow that no mere bug could produce.

He'd only gotten an arm all the way free when his fears were realized by a swarm of bugs began to engulf them all as the trees and plants had done. Not just one type of bug, but everything that creeped, hopped, or flew. More importantly, anything that bit or stung. The swarm quickly grew so that Tyrm could only see a few feet in front of him and despite the magical protections he had, he had to fight panic as buzzing wasps angrily covered him attempting to sting, especially in his eyes and mouth. As he heard the Notaries began to shriek, he had to fight from shrieking himself. Blindly he reached for his cubic gate in the hope that he himself could at least escape this lethal trap, but found that that vines and branches covered that pouch.

And then the buzzing insects suddenly dispersed. Shaking, he saw Steeleye Bors, the only one of his men free of the entanglements, draw his bastard sword and take up a guarding position. He now stood nearly 12 feet tall, his armor and sword also larger, filled with the power of Helm, and Measure Tyrm was sure he had more subtle enhancements as well. His glowing mace was gone, a dazzling bit of light left behind near him suggesting it had been used to absorb a spell targeting him before it vanished as it often did, but it was obviously him who had saved them all by casting a successful _dispel magic_. Knowing the spell to call forth such insects that they'd use was powerful, he was hopeful that the halflings wouldn't have another one immediately available. "Bors!" he shouted, "Can you dispel these damn entanglements?"

Bors shook his head. "I don't know how they're doing it and I've never seen it before, but they're casting a special form of _entanglement_ which is cumulative. I believe that even if I were able to undo them all at once, as well as the _control plants_ and _plant growth_ they're obviously using with it, they'd just do it again. This must be how they're able to survive in the shadow of Darkhold."

Measure Tyrm swore that after he got out of this he was going to stomp every daisy within a square mile and never allow the accursed flower to be anywhere near his home in Melodia on Arcadia. Daisies and butterflies, the obvious symbol for this village, were now on his list of cosmic mistakes along with bariaur, pixies, moon elves, and kender.

"Sir!" cried Bors, "I believe the fugitives we seek are approaching!"

Measure Tyrm groaned in humiliation. It was one thing to be beaten back by the celestials of Arborea, quite another to be rendered helpless with halfling "flower power." Then fear crept in as he realized the half-kender wizard no doubt had some deadly spells of her own. He hoped the halflings were such tree huggers that they wouldn't allow her to set the foliage they were trapped in ablaze, despite that being exactly what he'd have ordered done if he'd had the halflings trapped here.

He heard the halflings and fugitives talking in their halfling tongue, followed by the foolish half-kender asking Bors in the common speech if the Harmonium had heard of the festival and decided to spoil the fun before it even began just like they're tried spoiling the fun at White Sands. Bors said the obvious, that they were here for the fugitives and therein lay their only interest. Sylvie expressed surprise that she was considered worth the trouble to pursue, to which Bors merely shrugged. The old halfling woman had many harsh things to say herself in both the common and halfling tongue and seemed to be holding a grudge over the burning of her onion patch and home, as if these things were of any consequence when it came to universal harmony.

Tyrm was able to escape his entanglements enough to use his magic bastard sword to begin cutting other parts of himself loose. He still had a lot more to cut away before he was free, but at least he could now clearly see the fugitives in front of him, as well as the dog riders, the human militia, the sheriff smoking a pipe, and several priestesses and a few priests holding either staffs or sickles.

The fugitives were what most interested him. The half-elf and half-kender were on a light horse, not even barded, and the halfling Merla was on a pony. He didn't see the cat. They were obviously well-provisioned and prepared for adventuring, though not so encumbered as to be slowed down. He remembered a special gift Romamman had told him to "give" to the kender should he wind up in dire straights, but held back knowing now wasn't the right time to give it to her.

Naturally the kender-elf taunted him when she noticed him glaring at her. "Hey, Tee, see what happens when you don't live in harmony with the natural world? The flowers clobber you!"

Before he could stop himself, Tyrm spat back, "KENDER are what're unnatural! Wasn't your accursed race born from a gem of chaos?"

"Hey, that's just one version of what happened! But if I ever find the Graygem of Gargath, I'll be sure to do all I can to have it delivered to the Harmonium on Arcadia. Besides, nature itself is chaotic at times, so we kender are all-natural, and we live with trees, and travel wherever our feet take us. We accept nature as it is, while you Hardheads keep trying to change it into something UNNATURAL. So why do you act like WE'RE against nature?"

"You're someone who spreads chaos born of a species that was manifested from pure chaotic energy. I'm aware that nature has its chaotic elements, a sickness for which it shall be cured. No one can stop us."

"Do you need to pee?" asked Sylvie. "How, what about your back? I bet it really itches, you know, where you can't reach because of the vines and your armor, and I bet we can't stop you from scratching those horrible itches."

"SHUT UP! We're down for the moment, but our magic will make sure that we still live to pursue you. And even if we didn't, more would follow. You've made a powerful enemy, Sylvie Starblossom." He blinked as he saw her notch an arrow to an exotic bow. "You fool, don't you realize that…"

The arrow hit him, cutting off the rest of his words. That this bypassed his magical protections and armor meant the bow and/or arrow had some serious magic on it. Adding to that estimation was the icy pain that entered his body where the arrow struck, hurting him with cold damage more than the arrow itself which only barely managed to scratch his skin. Most of all, he felt every single one of the spells protecting him, including his _magic circle against chaos_, dispelled. Now even an ordinary halfling warrior might manage to hurt him by throwing a mere stone from his hand.

Bors pointed his huge bastard sword at the kender wizard even as he stepped between her and Tyrm. "Do that again," he said fervently, "and I vow to do all that I can to kill you, wizard, though it may cost me my life."

Tyrm hearing this hoped it didn't come to that. Bors probably could slay the impudent wizard single-handedly, at least if it was one on one and she didn't teleport away, but it would be far too quick and merciful. And as Romamman said himself, justice delayed is not justice denied. Let them escape this insignificant village, she still wouldn't escape justice. He really hoped to give her Romamman's "gift," too. He wanted to see her broken before he saw her dead.

"I was just making a point," said Sylvie lightly. "My point being that you're making powerful enemies yourself, from White Sands to Corm Orp, not to mention me. Hardheads aren't the only ones with resources and magic, you know, and they can be made to pay the music just like anyone else."

Bors remained vigilant as he said, "I advise you and your accomplices to go into hiding while you still have time. But no matter where you go, we will find you again, of that you can be sure."

"It's no secret where I'm going," said Sylvie, "I'm going to Darkhold."

Bors blinked. "You're with the Zhentarim?"

Sylvie laughed in shocked surprise over such a ludicrous statement before answering, "Not at all. They have something I want, so I intend to take it from them, like a Taker twigging to something. But it won't do to have you harassing these people anymore in interrogating them, the moment you can find someone to brave enough to come back here and abduct someone for interrogation, so I'm letting you know."

Bors looked skeptical. "May I cast a spell to see if you're telling the truth?"

"Of course."

"Then you have some magic to defeat it."

"I do not! Ok, I have a _potion of glibness_ on me, but I haven't taken it. I'm saving that in case I need to talk my way into Darkhold."

"I will cast a cantrip to detect magic as you remove all your items. After that I will see if any other spells or magical effects are active, and if not, then I'll cast the spell that discerns truth." When Sylvie agreed and dismounted, he recast the cantrip that allowed him to see magic and was very displeased to see that Sylvie and Merla were both radiant with magic items! Oddly, Panwyr had almost no magic beyond leather armor and rapier, and they held only minor enchantments. "Where did you get such magic?" he asked wonderingly.

Sylvie shrugged. "I made most of it, found a little. Merla's my best bud, so I've made her a lot, too. I've only recently reunited with Dad here, so he's still got to make do with what he can find or win at magic poker."

The one that worried him was the ring on her right hand. If she crafted that herself, then she was at least as powerful as their own war wizard, which meant she was going to be more trouble than expected. "Did you make that ring yourself? I mean the silver one."

"Oh, that? Nope. I can't forge my own rings yet anyway. It just lets me cast more spells than usual."

Bors shook his head, as if that was some small thing. At least most other items were of much less power, only a few coming close to the power of that ring, such as that odd bow she carried and was currently laying on a magical quiver of some kind. "I presume you made that exotic bow yourself?" When Sylvie nodded, he added, "Judging by that, you are a moderately powerful wizard on the verge of becoming stronger still, but not as powerful as our own. Even I can cast more powerful spells than you can." While disturbed by the quantity of magic, he was comforted to know that she wasn't any more powerful than predicted.

"Good to know," said Sylvie as if this didn't concern her, as she continued to shuck magic items. After she'd divested herself of all magic, she lifted up her arms and slowly turned in a circle for Bors to examine her closely. "Now ready to learn the dark of my nefarious plans?"

Bors nodded and cast the spell to tell lies from truth.

"I'm going to Darkhold looking for something that was taken from me—what is for me to know and you to find out, so don't ask. I don't know how long I'll be or where I'll go next for sure, but it won't be here if you guys are still breathing on my neck or stationed here because I don't want to ruin the festival." She shrugged. "When in doubt on what to do next, I'll be sure to go with what would be most inconvenient for your faction to make up that you're making me miss the festival, just so I have some idea on what to do next."

Bors remain skeptical. "You're very forthcoming, and I can't imagine that you'd really go into Darkhold."

Sylvie replied, "Then you can't imagine what someone of kender blood would do. But if you still think I'm immune to your spell, then let me just add that I think the Harmonium are composed of the smartest, wisest, and most caring bloods in the multiverse. I plan to apply for membership myself." She grinned impishly as his face showed his spell had recognized the huge whopper of a lie she'd just told. Then more seriously, she added, "Having seen how you've fared against flower power, I'm not all that worried about you stealing me away from Darkhold anyway. But I dare you to try."

Bors nodded. "Very well, I believe you. However, despite your numerous items, you are still outmagicked, and our wizard is trained for both martial and magical combat while every indication suggests you focus on illusions and trickery. You really should just give yourself up now and petition for rehabilitation instead of death. The Harmonium can be merciful."

Sylvie made a rude noise as she gathered up her items followed with, "What would be the fun of that?"

Bors sighed, "I will never understand those who are so chaotic. I only know that people like you have to be stopped." Bors hoped she was just a fool, but she'd proven herself a capable trickster and probably had some surprises of her own planned.

"We'll ride hard on your heels," Measure Tyrm promised loudly. "You truly think you can evade the Harmonium forever? We'll find you, no matter where you run to."

"I know," said Sylvie lightly, but loudly enough for the Hardhead bound in the foliage to hear, "which is why I'm letting you know. Even knowing that I WANT you to follow me, you will anyway. You're the perfect example of why brothers and sisters shouldn't breed."

Measure Tyrm took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He wasn't letting the damn kender make him lose his discipline this time. Then calmly he replied, "This 'flower power' will only slow us down, not stop us. And then we'll bring justice to the guilty and erase the cosmic mistakes of nature that prevent universal harmony like moon elves and kender."

Sylvie mounted her light horse again and replied, "I realize given what nature has done to you, both today as well as the day you were born, that you have good reason to hate it, but what I really want to know is if your children call their mother 'ma' or 'grandma'?"

Gods damn them all! Now they weren't just mocking him and his faction, but his mother, wife, and children, both living and dead! Measure Tyrm turned his head looking for a halfling that seemed to be in charge and finally settled on the old halfling woman whose borrow they'd burned. "Release us!"

In response the old halfling turned to the fugitives and said, "Let me give you some help. A quick spell will help you spend an hour of hard riding without leaving any tracks at all to be followed."

Measure Tyrm was furious. "You think that will stop us, kender!? We'll find you!"

Sylvie glared down her nose haughtily at Tyrm and added, "You're no match for flower power, so I know I don't have to worry about you in Darkhold. Once again, chaos rules over law, and the Harmonium are again proven to be the clueless sods they are." So saying, she took off, her two accomplices with her looking at least to have some doubt.

"Run to Darkhold then!" shouted Tyrm after her. "See what good it does you! One way or another I'll do my duty!" He barely swallowed the part where he'd punish everyone that ever helped her, since saying that while tangled up in the greenery surrounded by several resolute halflings and their allies didn't seem prudent. And he wanted to live long enough to bring Sylvie and her accomplices to justice, preferably with a long interrogation and a giving of a "gift" Romamman told Measure Tyrm to pass on should she prove to be exceptionally difficult to subdue.

"We'll find you," he said more calmly, a sincere vow that had become the reason of his existence, and what he believed would be a great, if underrated, victory for the Harmonium by helping his entire faction find their way back to its original path it had before Factol Sarin had been assassinated in Sigil. Seeing the half-kender as directly involved in the events in Arborea, the failure of the reeducation camps in Arcadia that she bragged of foiling (though he knew there were several involved in that—and he hoped to catch some more after interrogating the fugitives), and the general wrong direction his faction had gone since then, he truly believed her capture and execution would do untold wonders for bring the universe into the harmony it was meant to have. And seeing that kender-elf broken before him before he executed her himself would simply be a personal reward for a job well done.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17: WIZARD ZHENT

As the dawn sky continued to brighten, Sylvie coaxed her hair way up with her boar-bristle brush, careful to keep the top and underside bump-free, and secured the topknot with a colorful snug elastic to keep it perky. Looking into the mirror provided by her disguise kit—one of the first things she learned to do before becoming a wizard was to hide her kender features and make herself look older, and she often still did—she teased her hair until it covered the tips of her ears. Then she began to cover up the hint of blue on her face with a blush. She intended to disguise herself as human later and wanted to maximize her chances when she used the minor glamours she crafted into the beaded band that held her topknot to give magical aid in changing her appearance.

Finally, she checked herself: she wore a gray cloak that helped her to move about unseen when she pulled the hood over her head, but now you could see a dark blue shirt and black leather skirt underneath, both with pockets, as well as shiny black boots that allowed her to levitate whenever she wanted. A broad, brown belt went around her shirt just above her skirt, which actually held multiple magical pouches that could hold far more than they seemed, with barely any weight being felt. One of them was a specially crafted extradimensional space for her familiar, who preferred to sleep there in safety when Sylvie was riding. A masterwork potion belt looking like a bandoleer holding her potions could be partly seen around her sternum as well. Unfortunately, all 10 potions she'd brewed herself, which meant none were of the healing kind as she wasn't able to make those.

On her hands were brown gloves, that when rubbed together briskly, allowed her to use an invisible hand of force for a short moment up to 3 times a day, though it could only carry up to 5 pounds. On her left hand was a reddish iron ring that warded her against fire to the point that she could survive unscathed on the elemental plane of fire. On the other was a silver ring that held 4 low level spells.

Her blue shirt hid the bronze disk that allowed her to read the surface thoughts of others as long as she concentrated. It also covered the hide wrist covers that served provided magical protection against attacks similar to armor, though she sometimes pulled the sleeves up when she was using her sithak. On the side of her right wrist was also a snap wand holster to quickly release her multicolored spiraled stick that was a _wand of color spray_, though the holster had no magical abilities of its own.

Satisfied, she placed her brush, mirror, and the rest of her disguise kit back into her magically crafted haversack that, like her belt, held an extradimensional space, and even better, presented whatever you were looking for in it at the very top. Within the haversack was most of the rest of her gear, and also a stick that continually glowed as if with the light of a torch, though she kept it tightly wrapped when not in use. The pack also contained a well-protected pair of lenses that allowed her to _detect magic _when worn, and a rope that would lash out on its own and tie a person up when a command word was spoken. It also held her scroll organizer which easily let her locate which of the 15 spell scrolls she had.

She then pulled out a special ink and began to inscribe an _illusory script_ which she hoped would help her get into Darkhold, or even be accepted as belonging there should she sneak in and be caught. Quickly done, the magic of the script would last for days, but she regretted not being able to replenish that spell slot before reaching Darkhold later that day.

She then cast another _dispel magic_ into her sithak, while mentally kicking herself for wasting the spell on the Hardhead yesterday. It would be another day before she could refresh the spell, but the spell was stored within her sithak indefinitely and could be used whenever she wanted, whether she attacked with an arrow or with the scythe-blades. But it could only store one low level spell at a time (the _dispel magic_ being of the highest spell level it could store). At least she also had a scroll with _dispel magic_ inscribed on it, and another with _greater dispel magic_.

Pulling out some meaty treats, she called Faelar over, who came with tail up. Petting him as he ate, she mentioned, "I'm glad you saw those Hardheads when you did. It was helpful that we were almost ready to go anyway when we got called by the Ladyhouse."

After finishing off the treats, he crawled into her lap to enjoy the warmth. "Maybe it was Sheela who made sure I saw them," he said lazily. "I was chasing a butterfly and all at the time when I chanced across them."

Sylvie smiled. "Maybe. You know I used to call Her my patron goddess before I accepted Selune. I still revere The Green Sister of course, just as I do many deities."

"I just don't know why Alliya couldn't finish off those Hardheads for us, or at least strip them of their magic. Especially that staff."

Sylvie nodded as she absently rubbed a finger over the reddish iron ring. And she was glad that Faelar had some resistance to magic granted to him as a familiar of a wizard of her accomplishment in case he should find himself the target of such an item. "The problem was that more would likely come, in larger numbers and better prepared, and they'd disrupt the festival."

"And the Zhentarim might come, too. So what?"

"The Zhentarim could come to attack the community outright, though it's unlikely given the number of powerful adventurers that show up for the festival. But the Hardheads aren't after them, they're after **us**, and that's a difference not lost on me or the Honored Mother. Had the hin slaughtered the Hardheads instead of letting them go after us, the next group to come may actually be after them specifically. And by leading them away, I not only draw them away from Corm Orp, but I make them Darkhold's problem."

"And ours," added Faelar.

Sylvie shrugged that off with, "They already are." Then rubbing her chin she added, "It's kinda funny that in Arborea I said I didn't know if I wished the Zhentarim on the Hardheads or vice versa. Now it looks as if I might get the wish I casually considered there." Blinking, she asked, "Do you think the plane itself has something to do with all that's going on now?"

Faelar looked at her, his eyes wide in wonderment. "I hope not. I mean siccing the Harmonium on us isn't very nice."

Sylvie shook her head. "No, it's…I don't know. I should think about it, because I think I might be on the verge of realizing something significant about how the Outer Planes interact with the Prime Material worlds."

Faelar laid his head down. "Or on the verge of going barmy."

Sylvie shrugged. "At least the Honored Mother gave us plenty of aid. In addition to Cassyl giving our mounts that helpful spell to make it impossible to track us from Corm Orp, they all have horseshoes that make them travel faster. And since the Honored Mother knew we were going to infiltrate Darkhold, she already had supplies ready for us, and the specially made trail bread will supplement the rations well. They may not have allied with us against the Hardheads, but this is no small favor that they have done for us. I hope we can return their mounts to them."

Merla spoke up from behind Sylvie. "Me, too. Because that means we survived this fool's quest and evaded the Hardheads behind us. Speaking of which, we're ready to go to our doom. Are you?"

Merla was mounted on her pony, though it appeared as if she was further back than she had to be and was leaning to the side. This was due to the blue-black cloak made from a displacer beast that made her seem to be a couple feet away from where she actually was. She also wore a black vest over a brown shirt, the vest helping her open locks and making her slippery when it came to those holding onto her or binding her in chains. She also wore boots that made up for her small size slowing her down when it came to all out retreat by increasing her speed and helping her to make big jumps. Enchanted gloves also helped her to swim and climb with skill while a belt she wore made her stronger than most humans.

Strapped to her side was an especially keen short sword with the ability to dish out electrical damage, making her ability to cripple and kill from her sneak attacks that much more deadly. Less obvious were _bracers of armor_ exactly like Sylvie's and a _brooch of shielding _that would protect her from any _magic missiles_. Within a small backpack was a magical rope that when held and commanded would rise up, knotting itself, to help people climb, and could easily hold several humans at once, let alone Sylvie and Merla.

Everything magical was a gift crafted by Sylvie, save for the 2 rings she wore. One was a _ring of feather falling_ that allowed her to fall gently as a feather whenever she fell more than 5 feet, and another ring that prevented her from being detected from many spells, as well as immune to Sylvie's medallion of mind reading.

Sylvie let Faelar crawl into the permanent _familiar pocket_ on her belt before standing up. She then slung on her haversack and sithak. In addition, she put on a magical quiver that safely held 50 arrows, each with their own enchantments as well as the ones imparted by the sithak, any easily reached by an act of will. Having done so, she mounted her light horse. "Ready!" she said, with a surprising amount of eagerness.

"Don't get too excited," said Merla dryly, as they joined up with Panwyr in his leather armor, sheathed rapier at his waist, and light crossbow and case of bolts held by straps on his back. They resumed their magically fast ride, but slow enough so that Merla's pony stayed with them. "And what if the Hardheads did a forced march, they could be on us at any moment!" She shook her head, "They already want to hang us from a leafless tree enough as it is, and you had to go taunting him like some fool kender."

Sylvie shrugged. "I wanted to be sure he focused his anger where it already was at instead of Corm Orp. And they almost never remain furious long enough to do a forced march. They'll want to rest, heal, restore spells, and the like. Their armor and the barding on their war horses will also slow them down. If they do show up then they'll be exhausted and the advantage is ours."

"Or they could use magical travel again," said Merla darkly.

"In which case it hardly matters if we rested or continued to run ourselves ragged all the way to Darkhold."

"I really don't understand why you had to let them know where we were going," said Panwyr. "Why not say Evereska? I promise you that Evereska's defenses would make short work of them, and their college of magic is staffed by some real plane-wise bloods."

"We can't have people getting killed over us," said Sylvie. "And I'm sure Corm Orp, let alone Evereska, could easily deal with that patrol. But they'd be making another powerful enemy in the process, and they both have powerful enemies enough to exploit such a vulnerable time of having just fended off an assault to attack while still weak. Besides, I have family in both places, and I can't lead the Hardheads right to them. This way, their anger focuses on me, they hopefully think I was in Corm Orp merely for a festival. And maybe they'll come ready to take on Darkhold to avenge their pride, or at least clash with them in a way that may provide an opportunity for us to use."

Merla nodded. "And if they come into Darkhold after us, they could provide a much needed distraction. We used this ploy before," she added for Panwyr's benefit. "Turning our enemies onto each other is most satisfactory. Not only that, but they tend to forget about us once we pull the fade and they instead worry themselves more about each other."

Sylvie nodded grimly. "That's what I'm hoping." She didn't add that if Darkhold captured them, the Harmonium would likely rescue them for their own purposes. While their future with the Harmonium would no doubt be extremely unpleasant and short, it would be better than what they'd face as captives of Darkhold.

Merla added, "Since getting out of touch didn't help, maybe after we're done here we should return to the planes. We could lie low with the Indeps for awhile. You know they'll provide ready backup."

"For you maybe," said Sylvie in a distracted tone.

Panwyr asked, "Are you both Indeps then?"

"We've got connections," said Merla evasively.

Sylvie shrugged. "I never was much for factions, they all seemed so extreme that any virtue became vice, and the wisdom in their beliefs became foolishness. Even many Indeps get that way."

Merla clucked. "I've always been amazed at how many inflict such misery on themselves over their beliefs, and sacrifice themselves for some thought guild. They're of such strong passion that everyone should believe and do as they do that they lose all joy in their life when they see others don't. Not like me. Just point me to the nearest ride or pile of jink and watch me go! And after that, I believe I'll have another beer."

"You both sound like Indeps to me," said Panwyr.

"Bar that!" said Merla. "I ain't part of some faction! I just have a working arrangement with the Free League, but I don't wear their colors."

Sylvie shrugged. "I think the Indeps see Merla as one of their own, but outside of Ysgard and those that claim Trithereon as a patron deity, few Indeps embrace me. They seem willing to overlook my prejudice favoring freedom, but not aversion to evil. They're just peery of anyone driven too strong by a passionately good or evil heart. They tolerate me, but don't accept me the way they do Merla."

"It's not that you're so keen on thwarting law and evil, it's because you've got no sense," said Merla matter-of-factly. "You hear of some group that you're sympathetic to, like say the Harpers or those POTs, and you're off to help them without even asking yourself what's in it for you! Or you'll humor Signers, defend Anarchists, support Bleakniks, participate in one of the fool activities with the Chaosmen, or go off with Sensates just for a lark, not because there's anything in it for you. But unlike you, I understand the point of making sure that you get back when you give. Even the factioneers are sure to get something out of standing up for their faction and their beliefs."

Sylvie shrugged again. "So I do what I want when I want. I'd expect that makes me more free in mind than any Indep."

"Ha!" shouted Merla. "You're not free of your passions for freedom and goodness. That's why the Hardheads are after us now, because you can't free your mind from what should be and just go with the flow, steering only to get what you want."

"I want people to be free and happy, so I DO steer to what I want. And as for piking off the Hardheads, I recall liberating many Indeps along with everyone else."

"The Hardheads are trouble," agreed Merla, "but they chose to make enemies out of the Indeps. You chose to be theirs, and antagonize them whenever you get the chance. There's a difference."

"Not that I see."

"In the case of Free Leaguers, they defend themselves when needed, but don't try to impose their beliefs on anyone else or force others to be independent of the thought guilds. But you want to liberate everyone from excessive authority, prove to the multiverse that the Harmonium is wrong, and inspire as many as you can to goodness and tolerance instead. You just can't help yourself. That's the way your heart blows and you're a leaf caught in its wind. If only you could stop letting yourself get sucked into that 'bigger picture' nonsense, then you could finally be free, like an Indep, and they'd twig to you more."

Sylvie sighed and decided to drop it. But then she got curious about her parents. "Hey Dad," said Sylvie, "You said you joined the Children of the Vine, but it sounded to me like you were trying to escape the truth rather than finding it."

Panwyr sighed before answering. "I don't intend to get into some debate here, so suffice to say that I believe that there is pain and pleasure in the multiverse, and that to escape pain was to pursue the pleasure. If life is pain and tomorrow might never come, then seek whatever happiness one can find in the moment. No, it's not a pursuit of wisdom or power, but I saw how many did pursue such things and were miserable, and I was tired of being miserable myself. Since the multiverse was capricious, and truth is often ugly, I decided I'd do whatever the hell I wanted to do. The Revellers were just good companions who understood my view."

"What faction appealed most to Mom?"

Panwyr smiled wistfully. "The Sensates, of course, but I don't think she ever formally joined them. And I doubt Montgomery would've tolerated her. While she wasn't what Montgomery would've dismissed as a 'shallow hedonist,' she was, well, kenderish enough to have fit in more with the Chaosmen than the Sensates."

"I always admired the philosophy of the Sensates and wish that their sensoriums were as common as libraries found on almost all civilized worlds, but never thought that one could actually find truth by experiencing as much as possible. Learn a lot, yes, but our experiences can blind us with prejudice and cause us to overlook many possibilities as well as showing us new ways to see and view things. That, and as one who has spent so much time honing the strength of my illusion spells, I know how easily our experiences can lie to us."

"I expect Montgomery wouldn't have tolerated you, either. And now that you mention it, the Sensates never have twigged to illusionists much, and your reasoning is probably the reason they don't dare to think about."

"Just as well," shrugged Sylvie. "I'm not a Sensate. I wish them well, but I'd be as home there as I'd be with the Free League. I'd be more likely to join the Celestians or Seekers in Wildspace, which have philosophies similar to the Sensates, but much less intense. Or maybe I'd just sign up with the Court of Stars in Arborea, since I fit right in with the Pragmatic Order of Thought in Wildspace, but I just wander around too much to get tied up in long-term causes of liberating slaves and spreading benevolent freedom." She shrugged. Shaking her head, she added, "I guess unless you've been raised in a place like Sigil, it's hard to understand why anyone would saddle themselves with such extreme beliefs anyway. I mean once outside of Sigil, I found very little need to declare myself a namer of any of the thought guilds, and I never cared much for that city anyway."

"But all those doors!" said Panwyr teasingly.

"All that dirty air from countless planes and worlds that my lungs spent more time coughing back out than breathing in!" answered Sylvie. "And all the fanatics and brutal thugs, on both sides of the law! I admit that sometimes Sigil is the best, or even only, option in some cases, but I never tried setting up a kip there for long. Still, I was morbidly fascinated with the dabus for awhile and felt lucky to actually see Her Serenity once…"

"Lucky!?" cried Panwyr. "I'd have dived out the nearest portal, no matter where it led, if I saw Her!"

Sylvie shrugged. "She didn't even look at me as She passed. I looked into why the mercanes wouldn't go into the city and never found out, though the Keepers began tailing me for some reason while I was looking." She shrugged. "Anyway, I've been there, done that, and now avoid the city as much as I can. There are other planar pathways besides Sigil, like the Silver Staircase that opens up near my case in Mahogany during the full moon—that's by Selune's realm--and plenty of magic that makes such pathways unnecessary anyway."

Panwyr gave a mock cluck and said, "Sigil would declare a day of mourning if they knew a kender wizard avoided it."

Sylvie smiled and then chuckled. She was well aware that the rest of the multiverse tended to see her with a lot less benevolence than she saw the rest of the multiverse. It's true that where kender were known she'd endured a lot of prejudice, but she wasn't bitter about it. Life was good and it was the loss of the ignorant and fearful to shun her. And enough others liked her, friends she could crash with in many planes and worlds, so why worry about the ones that feared a kender, especially one with magic? She couldn't see how she was anywhere as scary as the fanatics with swords and staffs of destructive spells, like the Hardheads, that others seemed to respect while fearing the likes of her. She just found it baffling.

"Topknot could get into about anything," added Panwyr, "a true handler that no door could bar passage to. If there was a way in or out, she found it." Smiling softly, he said, "I forgot how many times she used her bollik or sashik as a rope ladder." Shaking his head, he said, "Kender weapons."

Merla added, "I've always found it interesting how most people will see the tools of agriculture and instruments of war as very different, but you kender combine them. That sithak can be used to haul water buckets and harvest crops. What can your mom's weapons do?"

Sylvie answered, "Bollicks can be used for threshing grain; sashiks can be used for fishing; hoopaks aren't particularly useful that way—perhaps why so many kender chose them—but they can be used to pick apples from trees."

"And almost always useful for breaking and entering! Kender may be barmy, but they have some redeeming features, too."

Sylvie nodded. "Kirin Maptaker had a chapak, a kender ax with a hallowed ironwood haft holding a rope and grappling hook for climbing many walls, though I don't think it had any agricultural use. But my sithak won't be useful that way his chapak was. I **was** going to get or make a certain type of arrow alchemically treated out of giant spider webs to act as a grappling hook with a rope tied to it to shoot from my sithak, but the Hardheads messed that up. And I was hoping to get some black dragon acid for melting bars and stubborn locks, too, but I guess this fire beetle paste the Honored Mother gave us will have to do."

"And we were supposed to have healing potions and a bladesinger," added Merla wistfully. "The Hardheads messed that all up, too. We'll just have to be sure to not get seriously injured, poisoned, or come across the undead." It was obvious that her mind was now on Darkhold rather than kender weapons.

Their mood darkened gloomily, and they hustled on in silence as they noticed the hills getting bigger and rougher looking. A wind whistled through it that somehow sounded foreboding, though it was a refreshing breeze, despite the occasional bit of dust it blew in a basher's eye. After a long while, they stopped to eat and let Faelar stretch while discussing tactics and let their mounts graze before entering a rougher area of rocky hills. It wasn't long after they resumed their journey that Sylvie suddenly halted, alert and holding a hand up.

"Listen," she said. Sure enough, there were distant shouts. This close to Darkhold, it was likely a patrol, and they were in a fight.

Sylvie handed the reins of her horse to Merla before casting a spell that allowed her to fly. Given a hopeful grin that was somewhat strained, she was lifted with magic through the air, flying with grace that exceeded that of birds

It took her a minute to focus on where the shouts were coming from given the hilly region's tendency to echo noises. But once she did, she flew full speed in that direction as she willed her beaded hair clip to alter her futures to make her look to be a human woman several inches taller with mature features and having brown hair instead of black.

She rounded a bend to see about a score of mounted warriors on light war horses, dressed in banded mail attempting to use light crossbows on some goblins that were on higher ground and using several large stones for cover while returning fire with their own crossbows. In addition, a black robed mage was with the soldiers. He wasn't very powerful, Sylvie thought, since she saw him cast forth only 2 _magic missiles_ with a single spell at a goblin. And one soldier carried a banner with the mark of the Zhentarim.

Nodding, Sylvie flew as fast as she could to the battle while snapping out her _wand of color spray_.

It wasn't long before the Zhents noticed her and made sure everyone of them knew it. They all, goblin and Zhent alike, watched her warily as she approached, though as she came close to the goblins, they fired their crossbows, but her quickness and magical bracers barely kept her from being hit. Then landing on one of the rocks, she called out, "Prismo!" A vivid cone of clashing colors erupted from the wand, and 3 of the nearest goblins fell unconscious from the mind affecting magic. But 11 more remained. Nevertheless, they looked to each other and then they all fell to their knees. One shouted out a guttural, "We surrender!"

The Zhents cautiously made their way up there. Sylvie saw that one soldier and the mage remained below and decided the soldier there was the commander. She flew down next to him. He drew his sword and the mage snarled, but neither attacked.

"It seems a good thing I showed up," said Sylvie haughtily, her voice now sounding like that of a human woman. "Are you my escorts to Darkhold that never showed up?"

The commander smiled an evil smile and replied, "We'd be happy to escort you to Darkhold."

"Sir!" shouted a soldier above. "We have them secured! Do we take them back, or kill them?"

The commander turned to the mage. "Well?"

While they were distracted, Sylvie cast a special version of the classic _charm person_. As a low level wizard she found the _charm person_ spell invaluable, especially on those who knew about kender, so that hostile wildspace captains and overzealous guards weren't so mean to her. Unfortunately, most who knew what a kender was paid especially close attention to them, and casting a spell was always a reason for panic. So as she became more powerful, she learned to cast a silent version, with only a few quiet motions and an intense stare, and no sounds to be heard. It was harder to memorize than a regular charm person, but well worth it in Sylvie's experience. And it proved to be invaluable here as neither mage nor commander noted the spell she just cast on the commander.

"Kill all but one," said the mage, "break the kneecaps of the survivor and bring him back with us."

Sylvie blinked in surprise. "Isn't that a little harsh?"

The commander turned to her, and grinned. "They're not slaves anymore, they're just fodder now. Still, this one's master," here he cast a thumb at the mage, "likes a steady supply of condemned prisoners for his…work." It was obvious from his look that he was now _charmed_ and fully accepted her as if she were a trusted friend, or at least conspirator. He wasn't her slave now, but he trusted and liked her as much as he ever could anyone.

The mage was still hostile. "I'm sure my master has use for the likes of you, as well."

"Don't mind him," said the commander, "he just hates that you were able to subdue the vermin with a single spell while he barely managed to slow them down."

This conversation went on through the howls of terror and pain made by the goblins, and Sylvie resolved to tune out the sounds. But even though they were goblins, she couldn't help but feel bad she'd help capture escaped slaves.

"Who are you?" asked the mage, bristling with open hostility, despite her use of a _fly_ spell showing her to be a more powerful wizard than himself.

"Sylvan Slayer," she answered. "You may call me Sylvan or Slayer as you wish. I've been summoned to deal with a specific mage at Darkhold and take over his duties."

The commander seemed pleased and the mage instantly wary.

"And I," said the commander, "am Sergor Kovin, as well as very glad to meet you!" He motioned to the dying goblins gurgling and gasping their last breaths while one was still alive and shrieking as he was dragged by Zhents. "We've been having slave revolts recently. These scum-lickers escaped while their fellows fought. I expect they were trying to make it back to their filthy caves in the Sunset Mountains. Clever of them to take a roundabout way to get back, but not clever enough. We've been sent to dispatch them."

"I thought discipline was harsh in Darkhold so that slaves would never rebel," replied Sylvie.

"It was. But since the return of Bane, Sememmon and Ashemi have disappeared. Some say that they were destroyed by Fzoul, but I doubt that myself. In any case, several vie for control and Darkhold is in chaos. Slaves rebel, factions clash, and more than a few corpses are found with slit throats or wounds in their back. I suppose the Banites are letting us weed out the weak, but they're also helping to weed out the Cyricists and other elements they find intolerable, to better dominate us themselves. If we're allowed to run our operations as we see fit, I hope it comes down to The Pereghost, and not Dhamir Ercals, or one of the lesser factions fighting for dominion." He brightened. "Were you summoned by the Pereghost?"

"Yes, yes I was," said Sylvie, who could see that Sergor hoped that was so. "But he trusted little to the messenger and I know little else."

Sergor nodded as if this made perfect sense. "He plays the mages off against each other, but some…" Here he cast a glance at the mage with them, and Sylvie decided that meant his master rather than the young apprentice himself, "are getting unmanageable save for their obsessions. But we need them against Dhamir and the priests of Cyric." He shook his head, and Sylvie sensed more than a little fear regarding Cyric's priesthood. "So, do you know why you're to replace this one?"

Sylvie shrugged. "Nope, and don't really care. I get all his stuff , and as long as I keep the Pereghost secure then he pretty much leaves me to my studies and my hobbies. Which is just the way I like it. Trying to seize mundane power takes too much time away from my studies and my fun. It's much better to be the power behind the throne anyway, and I like that Pereghost appreciates my view and wants me to be behind him."

Sergor nodded. "A wise man, and not one to cross," he agreed. "I take it I don't want to be there when the duel between you and this other wizard goes down."

Sylvie replied, "The affairs of wizards are best left to other wizards, but there's always opportunity. If it's a wizard you don't like, I could turn you invisible and you cut him or her down while we're dueling. But be careful as there are spells to make him impervious to your weapons."

Sergor smiled at her. "A wizard that doesn't look down on a fighting man as a mere bodyguard? I'm truly amazed."

Sylvie gave a light chuckle. "You fighters are tough, and the power a fighter seeks is usually different from what a wizard seeks, so we're less likely to stab each other in the back when it's time to divide the spoils. At least those of us who aren't into wasting resources from drunken pride who think we can all do it ourselves."

He nodded. "You're one of the few wizards to realize it. I've always questioned the worth of book learning given how stupid so many wizards can be. Fighters with experience will know to avoid certain monsters but a wizard will say he never READ of it being that dangerous and thinks his books are more real than the world! And they not only care more about their books than those who do the dirty work of wielding a sword, but too many cast their fireballs without caring if they end up torching their own fighters." Barely restrained fury etched his features.

Sylvie nodded, as she wondered how he felt about being on the receiving end of _charm _spells, and also how much more he must hate the clerics of Cyric given which side he was on. "Indeed. I, on the other hand, prefer to magic up my fighters and turn them loose on my enemies. They get the glory, I get a share of the spoils along with less enemies, and fighters who are loyal to me because they know I make their hard work a lot easier instead of even harder."

"More wizards should have your wisdom. Do you know anything about this wizard you're to replace?"

"No, but I know a bubber…that is, a pathetic half-elf given to drink…that knows where the wizard is at. All very cryptic, but I plan to exploit his knowledge in formulating my battle plan. Maybe when he catches up with us I can have him repeat what he knows and see if you can figure out which wizard it is."

"Who?" Sergor was instantly wary.

"I have two servants, _geased_ so that they don't dare disobey me. One is a halfling foolish enough to try to steal from me, but useful enough to be allowed to live as an agent of mine. The other is a former apprentice of a wizard, I think a different one, who used to stay in the same room as the wizard I'm supposed to kill and is supposed to know quite a bit about it that even the current mage may not know and can prove very advantageous to me. Unfortunately, he was unhinged while an apprentice there and ran off to drink away his memories and partially succeeded." She shrugged. "I just flew on ahead because I heard battle."

"Strange," answered Sergor. Then he shrugged. "But these are strange times. How far behind are they?"

Sylvie blinked. "I'm surprised I don't see them yet. I know they're not foolish enough to try to escape, so they're probably cowering somewhere. Let me go get them. When I return, we will talk longer." Then narrowing her eyes at the mage, she added, "And don't trust that one."

She flew back only a little worried. She knew the minor mage wasn't powerful enough to undo her spell, but he probably guessed what she'd done and would be a thorn in her side all the way to Darkhold. In fact, she had to consider that it was best that he never make it back to Darkhold with the rest of them at all. She shook her head as she realized that now she was thinking like a Zhent, too.

She quickly found her friends who were in the process of tethering their mounts and flew back down to her horse. "Ok, here's the chant: I'm an evil wizard named Sylvan Slayer. Merla, you're my servant, and Panwyr, you're just an ol' bubber trying to forget your times as a failed apprentice to a wizard in Darkhold, just a wee barmy, but happens to remember a little of the dark of the room of the mage I'm going to kill. I want you to act like it as you describe the room, where it's at, and everything else you can recall with this in mind. And you're both _geased_ and don't dare defy me. Any questions?"

"Yeah," said Merla, "you barmy?"

"I got the commander under a _charm_ spell."

"That's something," admitted Merla.

Feeling very weird, both Panwyr and Merla accompanied Sylvie to join Sergor of Darkhold, and the rest of the troops fell in behind them, one of them carrying a hog-tied and squealing goblin on his horse.

"You, Danwar! Tell me again what you know of where the wizard's room where you used to apprentice. I want to see if I can now find out who this wizard is that I've been summoned to slay." She deliberately mispronounced his name in such a way that she and Merla could cover in case either of them accidentally started to call him "Dad" or "Panwyr."

Panwyr gave as much of a description as he could, pretending to be emotionally unhinged from the experience and having suffered neurological damage from alcohol poisoning since then. Given that it was almost 20 years ago, it wasn't hard. A few times Sylvie shouted at him to speak up, which he did as if fearful of her wrath.

While Panwyr did this, Sylvie used her medallion read Sergor's mind. What she found was most disturbing and made her feel noxious. But the shock was when Sergor knew who the wizard was—master of the apprentice with them right now!

Sylvie pulled her horse next to the mage, and then pulled her haversack off. Opening it, she instantly pulled her magic rope out and slung it with the command word of "Gitterdun!" The blinking mage found himself instantly tied up, and then he fell off his horse, shrieking to be released.

"My master will make you all pay unless you stop her now!" It was obvious that the one who scared these men was his master and not himself, nor did anyone like him.

"After we get to Darkhold, I intend to see to it that your master is dead within the hour," said Sylvie calmly. She turned to Merla and spoke imperiously. "Here, take the reins!" After she did, she flew off her horse's back and landed beside the mage.

The troops were agitated, but waited for orders. Sergor motioned them to stay out of this, and asked in a tight voice, "What are you doing?"

"I saw him beginning to cast a spell! I suspect he was trying to send forth a message to a wizard, maybe even the one I'm supposed to take out!"

"A lie! That's a lie! She's a liar, she has you under some kind of spell!"

"That makes sense," he said to Sylvie as if the Zhentarim mage hadn't spoken, "since he's the apprentice of the wizard Gristel you're here to replace." He smiled at the fearful mage who was still denying it.

"Now shut up, and just tell me all about your master."

'Course she intended to read his thoughts and ignore anything he might say. While on one foot and knee, she pulled him up off the ground by his hair, and she felt his terror—not of her, but of HIM. He wasn't going to talk, but he was thinking hard, and that was even better. He'd rather die than betray him, because death was literally less scary than what he'd do to a body—both living and dead. And then Sylvie broke through his defenses completely and learned much about the wizard that made her reconsider the entire plan of entering Darkhold to take him out.

She exhaled as she felt the evil memories stain her soul, sickening her, and making her marvel that such goodness as Corm Orp could exist this close to something as foul as Darkhold. With only a little sadness and zero regret, she stood up and summoned a _flaming arrow_ from her quiver and set it to her sithak. He stared at her in despair but felt gratitude that at least his death would be quick. "Release," she said harshly, and as the rope was still falling away from him, she administered a _coup de grace_. The flaming arrow took him through the throat, and then a thin sheet of ice spread over his already dying form, starting from where the fire had been. It was a most intimidating sight for the Zhentarim to see.

She flew back onto her horse. Grimly, she vowed, "The necromancer will be dead within the hour of our getting to Darkhold. None of you should interfere, for the affairs of wizards should be left to wizards. Sergor, I would reward you if you could give us an escort to Gristel's lair and make sure no one else who isn't a wizard, other than the Pereghost himself of course, doesn't interfere."

Sergor nodded. "It shall be done, with pleasure." To his men, he said, "Leave the mage where he lies. We continue on. And I'm sick of that screaming goblin. Put it out of its misery and leave its carcass next to the mage!"

A moment later, there was a sickening whack followed by sudden silence, and the thump of a dead goblin being dumped next to the dead mage. They moved out.

Sylvie then told Sergor, "Excuse me while I confer with my servants to formulate a plan of attack." After Sergor nodded, a cruel smile of shared hatred on his face, Sylvie let herself fall back and spoke quietly in elvish to her companions. "I've been inside his mind and I saw things that were fit only for fiends," she said. "I don't know if there's any turning back now, especially with the Hardheads after us, but I wanted you to understand that going into Darkhold is very much like going into the Lower Planes."

Merla dismissed her concerns, also in elvish. "Next thing you'll tell us is that the ocean is wet. We know that it's bad. That's why we're going with you. Besides, they accumulate a lot of wealth, and I intend on making the troubles of the past few days pay for themselves."

Sylvie sighed before telling them, "The wizard Gristel is a 'true necromancer' who is both a minor cleric to Velsharoon and a powerful necromancer that has combined divine and arcane magic into a theurgical mix of especially powerful necromancy. He's also a necrophiliac and has taken part in sexual rites with liches for the arcane power he achieved, as well has having his zombies sexually abuse an apprentice for getting sidetracked from his duties with a woman."

"Bleck!" Merla was disgusted. She'd heard of zombie pits in Sigil where prostitutes performed sex acts with zombies in front of an audience, but even that, horrible as it was, wasn't rape.

"The apprentice I killed has seen him torment others with a spell that makes victims of it see his appearance looking over their shoulder whenever they look into a reflective surface. He always has a spell active that devours the life force of a bound victim to speed his own healing and overcome his need for food. He has been physically and magically altered by magical forces he has contacted within the Negative Energy plane. There are magical traps all over his lair, as well as a standard pit trap with spikes in it and a zombie pretending to be dead and with obvious treasure waiting for the greedy that evaded the trap to climb in instead."

Merla sighed angrily. "Now that's just getting dirty."

Sylvie continued. "One apprentice died for taking the stopper off a potion that had a _fire trap_ within it. He was lucky compared to the one that pulled a _sepia snake sigil_ from what the apprentice had thought was a spell scroll under Gristel's bed—he regained consciousness strapped down to be tortured to death by slowly being eaten to death by flesh-eating ants artfully and carefully managed over a period of days."

"For fun?" asked a disturbed Panwyr.

Sylvie shook her head. "Here's the chant, Gristel's an alchemist that makes all kinds of narcotics and drugs of the deadly and addictive manner that are illegal in most cities. He's also a specialist at creating liquid pain, also known as agony. He even has magically enhanced torturing devices to automatically distill the agony of the suffering souls bound to it."

Both Merla and Panwyr shuddered. A very popular drug among fiends, it was a reddish liquid magically distilled from the intense suffering of sentient beings. Not just any suffering, but the most intense possible, like fingernails pulled and needles driven deep into the gums. It was also extremely addictive, and while the process of creating it was horrible enough to contemplate, even worse was what fiends were willing to pay and do to get a steady supply of it.

"I noticed you didn't hesitate to kill the apprentice," noted Merla.

"He would've betrayed us," replied Sylvie, "he wouldn't have dared otherwise. Besides, he had a game of telling the tortured that he was with the Harpers or otherwise going to get them out in order to prolong their hope and increase their suffering when they realized they were being played with. Gristel approved, since it made the liquid pain that much sweeter. But what clinched it is that he enjoyed the power he had over helpless victims. Too many would suffer if he survived."

"So," said Panwyr, "did you find out where the _stasis sphere_ was?"

Sylvie shook her head. "But Gristel is hiding something. That's why he has so many traps around, and part of how he found the lore to make the evil pacts with dark powers as he has done. Another powerful wizard, a diabolist named Frendrick and known to have eaten the flesh of fiends for his own power, has been trying to get at whatever secrets Gristel has, and even tried recruiting the apprentice I just killed. In addition to infernal servants, he also has his own undead."

Merla sighed. "Better and better. So after we put the necromancer in the dead book, then we got a wizard and his pet devils and skeletons to come claim the prize."

"Hopefully we'll be out of Darkhold before he comes looking for it." She looked at Merla. "Don't be getting your treasures in his lair!"

Merla scoffed. "Like I want anything of his. I don't even mess with narcotics and lower planar drugs, no matter how much money is involved. I don't care to have anything to do with necrophilia or necromancy either." Merla made a face. "So much for avoiding undead, and our chances to avoid being poisoned or seriously injured seem even more remote than ever."

Panwyr interrupted with a hint of agitation. "How do we find what we're looking for?"

Sylvie shook her head. "That's still dark. But that's the room, so I'm sure we'll find what we're looking for there, or at least a clue." Silently she prayed to Selune and Tymora that they didn't also find pain and death there, too. Or if they did, that their deaths were merciful and quick as the one she gave that evil apprentice, and that their bodies and spirits weren't enslaved to the evil will of a necromancer with a penchant for necrophilia.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18: A PLACE WHERE ALL BUT KENDER FEAR TO TREAD

Later that afternoon, they arrived at Darkhold. Towering spires behind forbidding walls, all black, jutted from the bare rocky spur on the side of Gray Watcher Mountain. More than one huge chimney with spikes at its top belched forth foul smoke. There was an aura of wrongness and death that Sylvie could somehow feel, and she felt Faelar through her empathic link asleep suddenly tremble in a nightmare in his extradimensional space.

"Creepy," Sylvie said in elvish quietly to Panwyr and Merla. "Reminds me somehow of the Marsh of Chelimber, only rocky & barren instead of wet, if that makes any sense." Sylvie struggled to find the words before adding, "It tastes of fell magic."

"Your mother and I explored the Marsh of Chelimber while leaving you in Evereska," said Panwyr. "And I know what you mean about the oppressive aura of wrongness."

"Did you meet the sivs?" asked Sylvie curious, "or just the bullywugs?"

"We met neither," replied Panwyr, "we had to defend ourselves from some lizard men and later a troll."

"Can we stay focused?" asked Merla, who felt very tense. Even she felt something malevolent was radiating from its walls. "What's the chant on this place? I'd like to know before we get scribed."

Sylvie nodded. "The most common belief is that Darkhold was originally built by giants, probably runecasters, on a site above a powerful reservoir of Underdark magic. Magic collects deep within the Underdark, one reason why so many critters down there mutate with magical abilities or the ability to resist spells. Since then, many others have controlled and shaped this place, from evil dragons to beholders, illithids to Netherese liches, all of them corrupting the natural magic to be found here. It's even said that the stones are streaked with red because of all the blood that went into the stone and mortar the giants used to construct this place."

"You know," said Merla with a frown, "just because it's a good idea to tumble to the dark of Sigil before banging around in it doesn't mean that Darkhold is the same. Some times, it's better to not know too much about where you are or where you're going."

They passed the creaking giant gate that opened for them, passed through a bone-littered valley to a portcullis several stories high and with creaking chains.

"Ware the waters," said Sergor to Sylvie as they crossed the drawbridge, "it is full of flesh-eating fish that can turn even a horse into a skeleton in minutes."

"I'm about to chop up some bait so we can go fishing later if you like."

Sergor smiled.

After they crossed over, all the men dismounted and began taking their horses to nearby stables.

"Can we put our mounts there?" asked Sylvie.

Sergor nodded, and put their mounts next to his.

After, Sergor led them across the courtyard into gigantic open doors—the place had been built by giants after all—and into a banner-draped hallway with ceilings and spiraling stone staircases that would be comfortable for even a titan to use. Merla was distressed that there WAS a reddish cast to the foundation, as if countless gallons of blood had gone into the mortar. And here they were met by a dozen soldiers and a priest of Cyric.

"Commander Kovin, a word." The priest wore chainmail, carried a light shield, and a morning star was sheathed at his side. An iron holy symbol of Cyric hung around his neck, prominently displaying the white skull sans jawbone on a dark purple sunburst.

Sergor swallowed before answering with as much casual confidence as he could, "I have business with the Pereghost, so make it fast."

The cleric smiled and rolled his eyes in a way that suggested a mind not entirely sane more than a sign of exasperated contempt. He then lost his smile and glared balefully at the strangers. "Just what do you bring into our unhallowed halls?"

"A wizard summoned by the Pereghost and her servants," answered Sergor gruffly.

"I'm sure." The priest smiled cynically and asked, "I bet you have some awesome spells for making clothes disappear." Shaking his head and losing his smile, he added in an agitated tone, "So he thinks he can sneak in common whores as wizards instead of with the rest of the slaves, does he? Is he so special that he'd denied Cyric's priesthood and our servants first pokes?"

Sylvie haughtily replied, "You say you want me to make you a whore to sell? I can do that. But easier still to turn you into a goblin as that would be less of a transmutation. Then I can sell you to a whorehouse to scrub chamber pots, as well as be buggered by the hobs and the occasional pervert who likes a little goblin ass now and then."

The cleric blinked at this, laughed uproariously, but then seemed to grow angry. "Show me your summons," he demanded harshly.

Sylvie handed over the _illusory script_, which a soldier next to the priest took. If it worked, they'd believe they were here on legitimate business long enough to do what they came to do, and if it didn't then they'd find it gibberish. In that case, Sylvie would hand over the "correct papers" with runes that would explode upon reading and their entry would become a lot more complicated.

"This has no seal," said the fighter.

"Read it," said Sylvie exasperated, "it's self-explanatory."

The fighter did, blinked, and then nodded. "It checks out."

The priest snatched the script from the soldier's hands and stared intently at it himself. This was the worrisome part, for Cyric was a god that delighted in lies and illusions, and his priests seemed to be slightly more immune to illusionary spells. But he snarled and rudely tossed it back to Sylvie, saying to Sergor, "Get these whores out of my sight."

They continued on in grim silence, passing guards, goblins on cleaning detail, and also patrolling hobgoblins. Most went in groups of 4, but there were some foot patrols that exceeded 20. Even the occasional ogre, typically a task master to goblins, was dwarfed by the mammoth size of Darkhold.

As they turned a corner into another impossibly huge hallway, Sergor laughed. "Threatening to turn him into a goblin bitch was platinum! Any chance you'd really do it?"

Sylvie shrugged, her nose slightly elevated. "Frankly, he didn't seem worthy of my notice and I'd have underlings deal with him should he continue to harass me once I'm settled in. However, if it would please you, I'm sure I can arrange for all kinds of unpleasant ends to come to him."

"It would please me much," answered Sergor.

The infiltrators grew more cautious as they approached an ogre glaring at them while sitting in a chair big enough to sit his massive bulk, even one as fat as himself. Still he looked small given the epic scale of size that was Darkhold. He sat beside an open door and 4 soldiers came out talking to each other in a manner that was either harshly joking or reminiscencing about a brutal raid they participated in together. The ogre and soldiers ignored each other, but the ogre scrutinized the newcomers, focusing on Merla and Panwyr. They tried to hide their disgust as they saw he was either eating a raw arm of either a child or a hin.

The ogre looked at Sergor and asked, "Meat for the larder?"

"Pereghost's new pet wizard and her servants," answered Sergor curtly.

The ogre shook his head. "That one," he said pointing to Panwyr, "has elven blood. Probably a Harper or from Evereska. And the halfling," here he pointed to Merla, "is probably one of those daisy-worshippers from Corm Orp. Can't trust 'em, and they makes good eating, so leaves 'em behind."

Sylvie snapped her wand into her hand and pointed it at the ogre. "Not now," she said simply.

The ogre blinked as fear and bravado warred on his face. Finally, he asked, "That another lightning stick? I ate the last wizard that hit me with one of those."

Sylvie shook her head. "No, it will turn you into a delicious halfling."

The ogre's eyes widened. "Ok, ok. But at least interrogate them before taking them further in."

"Later," said Sylvie as she passed imperiously, Panwyr and Merla behind her and Sergor guarding their backs.

They passed the huge, giant-sized doorway the ogre sat by, and saw within a large mess hall where many soldiers, over a hundred at least, and a few wizards and clerics ate. A minority of them were goblinoids, mostly hobgoblins.

Sylvie frowned as she could clearly hear shrieks over the sounds of the mess hall up ahead. The next door was opened revealing a torture chamber, with every device Sylvie knew of and some that she didn't. Various people, human and otherwise, were strung up or being tortured. Many of the victims were goblins, and she assumed these were part of the failed slave revolt recently. At least there were no elves or hin seen. The scenes were ghastly, and she turned to look away.

"So close to the mess hall," said Sylvie wonderingly, looking to Sergor.

Sergor nodded. "Excellent for discipline. Soldiers appreciate their food more when they realize they could be here instead. Soldiers who disobey orders or betray the wrong master find themselves here, though those who would be maimed or killed here may instead choose to be willing sacrifices to Cyric, which brings the priests power while minimizing the torture the condemned would receive."

"So anyone in Darkhold who makes a mistake can wind up here," said Sylvie, trying to hide her disgust.

"All too easily," said Sergor dismissively, "as do those foolish enough to sneak in. That's why that ogre wanted to interrogate your servants, as Corm Orp, Evereska, and the Harpers try sneaking in agents once in awhile. Others try sneaking in, too, like those damn Red Wizards from Thay." Sergor looked directly at Sylvie and added, "I'm glad you don't wear the red robes."

"We've wasted enough time," said Sylvie, "take me to Gristel so I can dispose of him."

Sergor nodded and grinned fiercely. "You may be a wizard, but you have the heart of a fighter."

After awhile they climbed a large stone staircase, passing two humongous floors, before exiting on the 3rd landing and going down another hall. After awhile, they turned into another hallway filled with loud buzzing. They soon came to a large section of wall, along with a large, closed door, that was covered in spiders, centipedes, biting beetles, wasps, and hornets.

Sergor moved closer to the other end of the hall. "Don't get too close or they'll swarm you." The timber of his voice suggested he'd seen that happened before, and it wasn't pretty.

Finally they passed, and they were all glad as the buzzing sound receded, though the echoes of their buzzing followed them long after they were out of sight.

In fact, they could still hear a faint buzzing as Sergor stopped, and said, "Here are your new quarters. You just need to evict the old tenant." He swallowed hard enough in the dim light to be heard.

Sylvie took her lenses out of her pack and saw that the door was magically locked, in addition to whatever mundane locks existed. Putting her lenses back into her haversack (she'd lost a previous pair in a fight and never again wore them save when using them), she saw that Sergor was fearful, and said, "If you stand guard, can you keep anyone who isn't a wizard from interfering?"

Sergor seemed eager for guard duty. "That I can do!"

"Very well. See you soon." So saying, she handed Merla the potion that she drank and promptly turned invisible, while Panwyr sang a brief song that turned him invisible, too.

Meanwhile, Sylvie called forth Faelar and read two scrolls to make him tougher and full of vigor. Manipulating a piece of tortoise shell, she cast a spell that would also protect Faelar from ranged weapons, even those with a minor magical enhancement. Then she sprinkled him with diamond dust as she cast another spell to ward him against melee attacks. It wasn't unusual for wizards to cast more protections around their familiars than themselves, something even evil wizards had been known to do.

Then she cast another spell that caused 6 additional images of herself and Faelar both to appear. This last spell she cast on them both but would only last for Faelar as long as he remained within a few feet of her.

Taking a breath, she then cast another spell that caused the large door to open slightly. The invisible Panwyr pushed his ways in and hissed, "Zombies, two!"

Merla went in while Sylvie cast a final spell, one that would discharge an electrical attack with a touch, designating Faelar to be the one to deliver it. Then nocking a fire arrow to her sithak, she went in.

Faelar attacked the first zombie, the spell unleashing electrical energy into the undead corpse. Between his magically enhanced attacks and _shocking grasp_ spell, the zombie instantly fell, a lifeless husk.

Sylvie let loose her flaming arrow, and it took the second zombie straight through the throat. Like with the apprentice, the fire burned, but was instantly put out by a thin sheet of ice that spread from the wound.

But the zombie didn't fall, and took another step.

Sylvie didn't have time to use another arrow, so she swung the scythe blade on her sithak down, catching the zombie right in the eye. It finally returned to true death and she pulled the blade free with a sickening sucking sound.

She left the door barely cracked as she didn't have another spell to overcome the arcane lock on it and went in all the way, slinging her sithak back on her right side. She was in a chamber with high ceiling and torches bearing magical light gave adequate, if low, magical lighting to illuminate the room. Mostly empty, there was an oak table with 8 chairs near her. Near the closest wall was a shelf holding many wands—though she figured it would be unwise to actually touch or try to use them—and several skulls. Oddly, the top shelf was bare save for one skull that appeared to be a perfect replica made from glass. On one side was a stuffed stirge, on the other a stuffed bat.

Then Gristel appeared from a large entranceway at the far end of the chamber, very much like in his apprentice's memories. In addition to a dark gray robe, he wore a black cape and a skull mask around his face. The mask suddenly launched at her to deliver its deadly touch appearing to be an actual skull rather than a mask as it did so. However, the skull touched one of the mirror images of her which promptly vanished before the skull returned to the necromancer, now a simple mask for the rest of the day.

Then he reeled as an invisible Panwyr attacked him from behind, as planned, and just as he fell forward, Merla's short sword sneak-attacked toward its sternum. Both sneak attacks were brilliantly done, and no doubt would have the necromancer down for the count, only the robe he wore prevented the blades from piercing his flesh. It was a crushing disappointment that the mage was surprised but almost completely unharmed.

And they were now both visible.

Gristel's heart was not aligned with the planes of law, for the chaotic energy within Panwyr's rapier didn't hurt him at all. Still, the small burst of electrical energy from Merla's short sword did make him gasp, before he shouted, "Damn you!" As he said it, all the magical torches went out and they were all in perfect darkness. "Kill them!" shouted the necromancer, and Sylvie knew he'd brought in more zombies.

Sylvie quickly slung her haversack part way off on her left side and pulled forth her own magical stick with light spell on it. She unwrapped it, dropping the cloth back into the haversack, and then slinging it back onto her back. Though she did not expect it, she was rewarded with a thud as Gristel landed near her, hands around a cape. Blinking, she recognized it as a _cloak of the bat_, which allowed its wearer to fly or even turn into a bat as long as he was in darkness.

"Remove the light!" hissed the necromancer as he regained his footing.

During that time, Sylvie cast another spell that caused what appeared to be a ghostly wave of water appear and rush toward Gristel. Before he could move it hit him, and he went flying back into some of his zombies, with a stunned exhalation of breath.

Merla and Panwyr, who were trying to fight back the attacking zombies, were relieved when the undead pulled away, all converging on the stick with the magical light, currently very close to Gristel.

Sylvie held her ground in front of the approaching zombies and pulled a pork rind from her belt. Chanting a quick spell, the pork rind disappeared and slippery grease appeared under the zombies and necromancer. As the zombies continued to advance, they all began to fall, and their clumsy attempts to crawl or regain their feet would've been laughable had their circumstances not been so dire.

Gristel, however, kept his balance and finished another spell, one that dispelled her images. He also held a small vial of red liquid, and Sylvie recalled that the lower planar drug was also used sometimes by evil wizards to make their spells harder to resist. Now the real Sylvie and Faelar were in his sight. And just as Sylvie was about to cast another spell, he said another quick word.

"Ow, damn! Lich wannabe charlatan!" shouted Sylvie. It wasn't that bad, but it startled her, the sensation on her tongue, like a papercut, and drawing forth a drop of blood. Ok, she ticked off the necromancer, and now he'd ticked her off. Fair enough.

Then she blinked as she saw the necromancer break a tiny mirror with a small line of red liquid dripping off of it. Out of that breaking mirror came a black ray of negative energy that hit her, and she felt her life force assaulted, sending intense pain radiating from her body where the ray hit. Even worse, it had an effect such a spell didn't normally have, causing the sickening damage that she felt deep in her soul that she knew was known as "vile damage." She'd suffered that before, always from the foulest of spellcasters. Such damage would NEVER fully heal, save magically by divine healing within a consecrated or hallowed area. She realized that this necromancer was even worse than she'd already assumed.

Both Merla and Panwyr had fired a bolt from their light crossbows, but the bolts fell harmlessly aside.

"Sylvie!" shouted Merla, "your spell keeps us from getting to him just as it keeps him from moving!" Of course once Sylvie's light was covered up the necromancer would again be able to fly out of the _grease_.

The necromancer uttered another spell and a sliver of fear and doubt entered all of them (doubt for Sylvie), making them shake slightly.

Sylvie went on the offensive with the classic _magic missile_, and was glad to see the necromancer didn't have any magic to protect him from THAT. Five spell bolts crashed into him, causing him to hiss harshly.

Gristel responded with a stare that radiated palpable malice, one that filled her with even more tangible weakness. Then he yelled out, "Sammy, come forth!"

"Aw, hell," muttered Merla as an ogre zombie shambled into the room.

"We'll take care of this," said Panwyr, "just finish him!" He bravely ran around the greased area of struggling zombies to confront the undead ogre.

Merla started to join him when a bright, glittering ray shot out from the necromancer at her. She dodged, her displacer beast cloak making her seemed to be a couple of feet from where she actually was. The ray missed her.

"Surrender!" shouted Gristel, and Merla found herself dropping to her knees and bowing her head.

And then he returned his malevolent gaze to Sylvie just in time to see a thin green ray extend from the scroll she was reading, hitting the necromancer right in the chest. His body glowed green for an instant before he crumpled into dust, and was scattered by zombies still trying to get out of the conjured grease.

Sylvie sighed relief. So many creatures from the outer planes were immune to nearly everything save that spell, and she was sure to always have a scroll with it with her. However, she'd been hoping to still have that available when she finally opened the _stasis sphere_, as she had a very bad feeling that she was going to need it then. Ah well, as her mom liked to say, don't worry about spilled milk, the cat would come along and lap it up.

Remembering her purpose, she made sure Faelar, hiding under the table, was ok through her empathic link with him and then quickly flipped through her scroll organizer that was still at the top of her haversack and pulled out another scroll. Running near to the zombies still struggling with the grease that was due to dissipate soon, she read forth the spell. As she completed it, every single zombie ceased its struggles, truly dead now.

Again she sighed in relief. _Disintegrate_ and _Undeath to Death_ were among the most powerful of spells she was capable of casting. But resolve filled her features as her dad cried out as he was slammed away by an ogre fist.

The zombie approaching Panwyr stopped as a flaming arrow from Sylvie pierced his ribs. He adjusted his course to meet her instead, but Panwyr attacked with his rapier from behind. The zombie swung behind him, missed, and Panwyr's rapier was driven deep under the chin into the ogre zombie's brain. It stood motionless a moment, and then collapsed, Panwyr removing his rapier and dodging out of the way just in time.

Luckily, Merla and Faelar hadn't been hurt, and Panwyr only slightly so, though they all endured a short-lived _bane_ that would end very soon (and Merla was now over the magical command given to her just before he died). But not only was Sylvie wounded, though not bleeding, included with a bit of vile damage, but her entire body felt weak and she was shaking. She recognized the palpable malice as an _evil eye_ spell and knew that it would last until tomorrow unless she got a _remove curse_…and luckily, she had one scroll with that spell, too. She was soon cured of the _evil eye_ effects at least. Still, she was burning through her scrolls faster than she liked.

When no further monsters attacked, Panwyr pulled a torch out and lit it, Merla beside him. He held the torch as Merla began a systematic search of the room. Sylvie, her magical light in hand, put her lenses on that allowed her to see, and sometimes correctly identify, any magical auras present. Then, with Faelar at her side, she advanced to the room the necromancer had emerged from.

The first thing she noticed was a door leading to an unknown room. It wasn't magically sealed as the last door was, but a twist of the knob—using a magical hand from her gloves while a safe distance--revealed it to be locked.

Sylvie went back to the other room and softly said, "Can you see if there are any keys in the dust of the dead necromancer? The grease should be gone by now and the zombies are truly dead."

Panwyr, holding his torch high, said, "Since you said, 'please,' I guess we shall."

Merla added, "Will we get a cookie for doing it?"

Sylvie smiled at the graveyard humor. "I'll check in here," said Sylvie, resuming her search of the room. No rings of keys were evident on the walls, so she decided to examine the room more closely.

The entire area was blanketed in a faint evocation that seemed to be unraveling from the now dead corpses, and seemed to radiate from what appeared to be a shrine. Her educated guess was that it was a _desecration_ spell, used by evil priests to bolster their undead. "True Necromancers" like Gristel even radiated such a magical effect themselves.

She examined the shrine more closely. If the necromancer had set cross legged, then he'd have stared at the illustration of a laughing lich skull in a solid black hexagon, the symbol of Velsharoon. The demigod had once been a Red Wizard of Thay that went from lich to godhood and now often called The Archmage of Necromancy, as well as other titles like Lord of the Forsaken Crypt. The symbol was surrounded by two black staffs with skulls at their top and had an incense burner in front of it as well as many candles, probably made of human fat, all over it. Without touching the skulls, she peered into them as best she could and detected neither magic nor mundane objects of any kind.

A black cloth covered something radiating a dim magical aura. Rubbing her gloves together, she sent an invisible hand to unwrap it, and when no magical traps activated, she came closer to get a better look. She gasped in horror as she saw a violated horn of a unicorn. To be effective and radiating dim magic as it was, it had to have been removed while the unicorn was still living, leaving the unicorn in crippling pain for as long as it lived, and then used in perverse rites upon an evil altar, no doubt this one. Anyone who broke the horn would be teleported back to this altar from the teleportation magic all unicorns had, corrupted and tied to this altar through vile rites.

She couldn't bear to bring herself to actually touch it, for fear of being tainted by its evil and linking to the unicorn's torment. Hopefully the unicorn knew the mercy of death by now. She felt herself approaching tears at the thought and firmly pulled herself together. Darkhold was no place to be sentimental. If she and her friends were to succeed and get out of here alive, they had to focus on the mission at hand.

But she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to cast a spell detecting evil here and was glad she'd be spared the temptation of giving herself a headache. She knew that to cast that spell here would be a sure way to stun herself senseless by the overwhelming evil and simply didn't prepare it or bring anything that could do it for her. She wondered if any paladins were dumb enough to try mystically detecting evil while they were here and bet at least a few were.

Sighing sadly, she went over to the worktable topped with granite that appeared to be where the necromancer had been doing his work. She saw that he had the plants and materials for creating an addictive pain killer, and found it ironic that a being that so reveled in causing pain would create such a drug. Of course the abuse and addiction involved with this drug caused a lot of pain and corruption itself, as well as filling the coffers of the Zhentarim who were involved in the smuggling and sales of such illicit drugs.

There were standard tools of alchemy all over the table, such as a glass mask to protect the face from chemical burns, various small furnaces, measuring spoons, hourglasses, and other mundane items. She was especially impressed with an analytical balance kept dust free in a glass case. Various materials, from easily identifiable herbs to smelly pastes she couldn't immediately identify, were also in abundance. She saw potions that radiated a faint aura of transmutation and necromancy, but remembering that at least one potion had been spelltrapped, she avoided them.

She gasped as she saw a jar with a dozen small eyes, no doubt of human children, still moist from preserving necromantic magic. Such components were used by the most debased of spellcasters because there was a small chance when used as an additional spell component, that the spell would last twice as long. And merely a small chance.

The sitting chair where the mage almost certain had been when they entered was under a specially made bullseye lantern that would've served as a reading lamp, but the flame was currently out. However, the smell let her know it had been burning until just recently.

In front of the chair she saw several pieces of parchments made of blue dragon leather next to a pen made from a dragon's talon with magical runes inscribed on it and topped with a crystalline inkwell. One piece of parchment was in front of the chair and had the beginning of a list in Draconic: a basilisk eye, cockatrice feather, medusa snake venom. Sylvie blinked as she tried to guess the intention of wanting items from various creatures known to cause petrification in sentient creatures. Was he trying to create a drug that left people "stoned" literally? She shook her head in wonderment and hoped that whatever it was, it would never happen now.

She was bemused by the crystal skull, less precise a replica of the glass skull in the other room. It also radiated faint necromantic magic and it held a green liquid. She frowned as she realized that the liquid also held a dim aura of magic. She gasped as she realized it was Terran brandy, a potent drink favored by evil spellcasters for increasing the power of their spells. Making it was similar to making liquid pain, but involved magically distilling the liquid from dying fey. She blinked, and then picked up the skull being used as a drinking cup and slung it at the evil shrine, spilling the evil brandy all over it, including the violated unicorn horn. She felt frustrated as the skull didn't shatter, merely made a loud clanking noise before rolling off the shrine and settling on the hard floor.

"Sylvie!" shouted Merla. "Have you found any keys?" When Sylvie shook her head, she added, "Then they were probably on him and crumbled to dust when he did."

"Did any magic survive him?" asked Sylvie bitterly.

"Nothing. No rings, no gold, not that weird mask or cloak of his, just dust and his zombies returned to death."

"Good," replied Sylvie harshly. "But I guess we'll have to open the door the hard way.

Cracking her fingers, Merla said, "It's not THAT hard."

Sylvie nodded, knowing Merla was right. "Sorry. Just don't ever try to magically detect evil here or you're in for one hell of a hangover."

"Why would anyone try detecting evil here? That would be as pointless as trying to detect water in a lake." As she said this, she pulled out her masterwork tools from her vest while Panwyr and Sylvie made sure she had plenty of light.

As Merla worked, Sylvie asked Panwyr, "So is this familiar to you?"

"Only vaguely," answered Panwyr. "But I was definitely here with your mom. I think there's a dungeon for prisoners somewhere beyond this door."

It wasn't long before the door was opened. Stepping in, Sylvie saw that it was a stone hallways lined with manacles. "Or maybe the next room was a dungeon," said Sylvie softly.

A sound caused her to quickly move her light down. There was a young boy, probably not older than 12. He was small enough that the manacles above him were unused, and his wrists were manacled by adjustable bands that were normally meant for feet. He looked back up at her dispiritedly.

As Panwyr and Merla came to join her, she held a hand out. "Wait," she told them, staring at the boy through her magic lenses. Then she asked the boy, "Why is there an aura of necromancy around you?"

He shook his head, his expression saying he didn't know what she was talking about.

Bracing herself for horror, she concentrated on the boy's mind, wanting to make sure he wasn't a shapeshifter or undead of some kind, given the necromancer's fondness for traps. But she detected a real, terrified boy who'd long ago gave in to despair and simply waited now to die. The image of Gristel casting a spell on him repeatedly showed up and she realized this was the boy the necromancer had been magically consuming over a period of days in order to heal himself faster and overcome his need for food. Shaking her head, she was just glad he still had his eyes, though she was sure the necromancer would've harvested them before long.

"Ok," said Sylvie. "Merla, can you unlock his manacles?"

The boy blinked as Merla checked them as she made a dismissive noise, instantly going to work. "Wh-who are y-you?" His voice was tired and raspy.

Sylvie, trying to comfort him, said, "Some would call us heroes."

"Others," added Panwyr dryly, "consider us damn nuisances."

Sylvie scowled at her dad momentarily before an involuntary grin stole her scowl. Turning back to the boy, she asked, "I'm Sylvie, this is Panwyr and Merla. My cat is Faelar. Who are you?"

"D-darvin. Th-that's m-me name!"

"Where's your family?" asked Sylvie, silently praying that they hadn't sold him into this fate.

"Ain't got no f-family," said the boy. "I-I-I l-light ways for p-people at n-night."

Merla spoke up, curious. "You a glym jack?"

"L-l-link boy, y-yea," said the boy. "But I-I-I don't go leading no one into traps set by c-cutpurses and robbers. I shouldn't h-h-have b-been g-given to the m-monsters!" He put his hands out as if desperate to be believed and vindicated

"You're not here because you're bad," said Sylvie, "you're here because bad people put you here. Where are you from?"

"I-Iraibor. B-bad m-men I sh-showed around m-made m-me come here."

"You can come with us," said Sylvie. "I have some nice people that adopted me not that far from here. Maybe they can give you a home, too.

Merla snorted and added, "Don't let the fact that they raised HER make you think they'd be a bad influence on you. If it wasn't for my people, she'd have been even worse."

"Y-you were r-raised b-by halflings?"

"She was," said Merla, "anything wrong with that?"

The boy shook his head emphatically. "N-no!"

Sylvie then asked, "Do you know what's in the next room?" When the boy nodded his head in a grave manner, she asked, "What?"

"P-p-people h-hurting," he said. "L-living d-d-dead th-things torm-ment th-them. The d-d-door is mag-magical. None b-but G-Gr-Gristel open it." He was rubbing his emaciated wrists that were now free, and then gratefully accepted some water from a skin Sylvie gave him.

"Trapped, then," said Merla matter of factly.

"Or maybe spell trapped," added Sylvie. "Let me take a closer look at it first." She frowned as she saw a moderate aura of the illusion school, but she couldn't identify any specifics. "Weird," she said, "I think you should be careful of anything you find. It might be a trap." She kept staring at the door through her magic lenses, trying to make sense of it.

"I think I hear screaming inside," said Merla, "but it's very faint. Excellent sound proofing if there is."

"Or an illusion," said Sylvie, still baffled by the magical aura she could see.

As Merla began to poke around checking for needle traps first, a mouth opened on the door, booming, "You fools have dared to attempt trespass upon the sacred room within. Now you shall serve the master forever. Flenxis, attack!"

A black, wispy incorporeal wraith appeared through the door, radiating cold. "Gooood," it hissed as it attacked.

Faelar hissed and Panwyr and Merla cursed. The boy just whimpered.

"It's a fake," said Sylvie, as it attacked her.

"Sylvie!" shouted Merla.

"I said," Sylvie calmly said, "it's a fake. A programmed illusion. A simple magic mouth wouldn't account for the strength of illusion magic I could see here. Besides, if Gristel commanded such powerful undead, don't you think he'd have had them with him? Heck, he'd have almost certainly been a lich himself!"

"Ok," said Merla with a lot of tension, "but I really wish you wouldn't test what you think so dangerously! If that wraith was real, you'd be worse than dead right about now!"

"Right now I'm mostly annoyed and wishing this figment would hurry up and burn itself out," replied Sylvie. "But I can see that it's a fake. Can't you?"

As the others stared at it attacking Sylvie, and seeing Sylvie unharmed, they realized it was far more translucent than an actual wraith would be.

"Ok," said Merla. "Back to checking the knob." Again there were no real traps and she had the door opened fast enough.

What they saw made them all want to slam the door shut again. There were instruments of torture all around the room, though they were mostly unused at the moment. However, 2 racks radiating magic to Sylvie held bound victims, one a human woman, the other a goblin. Both were screaming, but their shrieks were hoarse, apparently having damaged their own tortured vocal cords. Over the goblin stood a zombie, bloody pliers in hand. It did not attack.

"Dad," said Sylvie, "can you kill that zombie? I don't think it will fight back." She then went to the woman.

Panwyr sighed and approached. Sure enough, the zombie ignored him as he returned it back to death. He then went to Sylvie sickened. "There are a pile of bloody goblin teeth at its feet! I think it pulled one out every time it was commanded to!" He looked at the woman and his face twisted in disgust as he saw her damaged eyes and her bare feet and hands without their nails and stuck with bloody pins. "What about her?"

"I'd say she was blinded by hot lead," said Sylvie. "Her mind isn't sane anymore, just full of desperate longing for release. I gather she seduced an apprentice here, probably the same one sexually abused by zombies over it, for that diabolist, Fendrick."

"F-Fendrick?" The boy asked, but stayed by the door. "The one with th-the imp?"

Sylvie turned to him. "He has an imp?" Then she rolled her eyes. "He's a diabolist. Of course he does."

"H-he used to h-have a b-bird, b-but an i-imp ate it and n-now h-he has an imp th-that looks like, looks like the eaten b-bird. Th-that's what th-the b-bad people w-w-working f-for Gristel s-said."

"To each other?" asked Sylvie. When the boy nodded, she turned back to the woman. "We can't carry around a blinded, half-insane woman who's evil anyway. She's been burned by hot lead in other places on her body, too, and would probably have to be carried."

Panwyr shook his head sadly. "Death would be a mercy." When he saw Sylvie blink at that, he added with some heat, "Don't give me kender eyes! We can't take them with us, and if we leave them, they get in the way or alert others to our being here. If we leave them strapped down, we prolong their suffering, which will be made to continue. And even if these rippers are released and can learn to overcome their trauma enough to function again, what do you think they'll do, join the church of Ilmater to help the unfortunate, or work more evil?"

Sylvie gave a shuddering sigh. Then looking up, she said in a soft, beaten tone, "Merla,"

"Don't have to say it," she answered, as she took the boy back out of the room who did not resist.

Panwyr nodded. "I'll get the goblin."

After administering the _coup de grace_ on each, Sylvie kicked two jugs of red liquid over, the lower planar drug magically distilled from intense suffering. No one was going to benefit from what evil had been done here. She wished she had more scrolls of disintegrating spells to destroy these abominations, but reminded herself that to succeed in their mission, let alone survive it, they all had to stay focused. They'd take the boy with them, but couldn't go around taking on all the evil they found here. For thousands of years, anyone who tried that here had been defeated.

They met at the doorway. "There are no more doors, unless they're secret."

Panwyr blinked. "There is a door, and it IS secret! It's over here." So saying, he walked to a bare expanse of wall, with Sylvie following him. After they searched, they found a loose stone that hid what appeared to be a lever. When Panwyr pulled it, they heard a creak as a section of the wall opened.

Panwyr instantly jumped back as a low moaning sound emanated toward them. Barely even 10 feet above them in the secret room was a swirling mass of greenish white spirits in torment.

"Spiritwall," said Sylvie. "They're not real spirits, but it IS dangerous." She blinked. "Why is the ceiling so low in that room? Here and everywhere else, the ceiling is high enough for a giant to comfortably walk through. Or is that spiritwall not covering a ceiling? And if not, why is it there?"

"I remember this room now," said Panwyr. "There wasn't a wall of spirits then. But there was a secret door on the ceiling, which is just above that wall. There's also a pit beneath it and if you step on a stone wrong it opens up. Topknot managed to get up there but she found another trap on the lock and never could disarm it."

Sylvie blinked. "Really? Ok, let me deal with this."

"Wait!" shouted Panwyr, "I thought you said it was dangerous!"

"Only to touch. It DOES have a fear effect, but I'm half-kender. Maybe it won't affect me." But as she went in, she realized she WAS scared. But after a moment her nerves steadied. She gave a thumbs up to her dad to let him know she was ok before digging out another scroll. Given that this spiritwall had been made permanent at some point (or it wouldn't be here), she knew it would be especially resilient and found her _greater dispel magic_. Using it, she was gratified as the spirits faded into silent greenish wisps and then vanishing entirely, but had to repress a shudder as the low moaning took a few extra seconds to fade away than it should have.

Looking up at the now exposed ceiling through her magic lenses while the rest of the party entered the room, she did notice the aura of an illusion. "_Leomund's Trap_, a classic," she said. It was a spell that merely gave the illusion of a trap, one that couldn't be disarmed. "So the pit trap should be about here." She motioned a little ahead of her.

"I'm on it," said Merla. In a short time, she said, "Yep, it's a spring trap alright." Working at it with her tools, she managed to jam the spring that would cause it to open so that it should be safe to walk on. Then she pulled her magic rope out and gave the word that caused it to rise, tying itself into knots as it did so, all the way to the ceiling. "Ok, secret door that even a kender handler couldn't get through is now ready for our expert hands." She began climbing the rope.

Sylvie levitated next to her and said, "Let's be on the safe side." So saying, she used her last _mage hand_ of the day from her gloves to pull the trapped lever, and a pit door fell open with a ladder connected to it that could be extended to the floor. Being built for human sized creatures let Sylvie realize that this was an addition, she'd guess by the ancient Netherese if what she expected to find above turned out to be there.

She was able to reach the ladder and pulled herself all the way onto it before extending the ladder down. Then she went on in and found what she'd been expecting: the _stasis sphere_. A green ball about 8 feet in diameter, it glowed softly with its own magic on the mundane level, as well as shining brightly to Sylvie using her lenses. It appeared to be the only thing stored here. "I found it!" shouted Sylvie. She frowned as she detected a much weaker aura of necromancy over the room itself. "But, oh! There's a necromantic effect, one that creates fear!"

Merla, below her, asked, "Do you think you can roll it out and we shatter it on the floor?"

"I think so. Give me a hand."

While Panwyr waited with the boy outside the room, Sylvie strained to push it but found it remarkably thick. Luckily, Merla, with her magical belt enhancing her strength, was able to help her push it and roll it to the pit door opening and drop it through. She was grateful that Merla was able to overcome the _fear _effect enough, though she noticed her best friend was trembling as she helped.

It landed with a huge, echoing sound, but it didn't burst open.

"Ok," said Sylvie, "new plan. Dad, can you help us get it into the torture chamber? Maybe we can use some tools to crack it open."

Together they rolled it through the wide door into the room, but the instruments of torture were useless. They hammered at it with a thumbscrew and a jawbreaker, Merla tried hammering a dagger there in with a mallet, Panwyr even poked it with his rapier. They didn't bother using the whips.

"Ok," said Sylvie, "an even newer plan. Everyone get by the door."

After they were together, only Sylvie just barely in the room and Merla holding her _light _stick, she pulled out a chip of mica and cast a spell that would shatter most things crystal. It wasn't as sure against magic, but even crystalline creatures were at least damaged, even destroyed, by this spell.

She stared in wonder as the softly glowing green orb fractured, and a brighter green light struggled to get out. The cracks spread loudly, little glowing green chips falling off to become ordinary glass. And then a resounding explosion of glass echoed through the room causing Sylvie to cover her ears against the piercing sound and feeling herself peppered harmlessly with glass shards.

As she still stood with her ears covered, she saw a huge flash of green light radiate out momentarily before it formed into several solid figures. Most were human-like, but a few demanded immediate attention, such as the hill giant and the fiends.

The most immediate attention-grabbers were the 2 huge fiends. One was a hulking goristro, nearly 3 stories high, looking like a cross between a bison and a human, broad shoulders on a muscular squat body supporting a massive horned head. The knuckles of its gigantic fists on its overly long arms rested on the ground.

The other was a ghargatula almost as large as the goristro, with dark, jagged skin, terrible claws, a tail over 15 feet long and ending in a wicked barbed black stinger, and—most of all—a massive mouth filled with several rows of sharp teeth the size of Merla's short sword. Its horrible maw instantly dived, snatching up a rutterkin, a twisted being almost 7 feet tall followed by sickening crunching sounds.

A succubus screamed in terror and vanished.

The goristro stamped a foot and snorted, everyone besides the humongous beasts from the lower planes and the hill giant falling over. Sylvie's magic lenses fell off but remained intact, and the first thing Sylvie did was grab them and put them back in her haversack. Panwyr barely got the boy out of the way as the hill giant came running through, the ground echoing with its footsteps, though nothing compared to that of the goristro. As large as a hill giant was, it was still smaller than the fiends fighting in the torture chamber. During this time the goristro attacked the ghargatula, getting stung in the process, and the two began fighting.

Getting to her feet like everyone else, Sylvie saw 2 humans, a half-elf, a half-drow, and a moon elf leap to their feet and begin running to the door in stark terror.

And a kender holding a hoopak stare raptly at the two fiends as one tripped on one of the magical racks but dragged the other one down on the floor with it and then began rolling toward the kender..

Mom.

And she was about to get killed.

"Mom!" shouted Sylvie, running in there. It was surreal to see a distant memory of hers take form while 2 gigantic fiends were trying to kill each other.

Topknot took to dodging and barely tumbled out of the way before she was squashed. As she came up from her roll, Sylvie grabbed her wrists.

"We have to go!"

"But what's going on?"

"If you want to find out what this is about…" Sylvie was interrupted as they both had to dodge, and then she continued. "Then come with me!"

Panwyr spoke up. "Wanna see what the fiends are fighting over? It's over here!"

Topknot blinked in curiosity. "Oooh, let me see!" She raced toward Panwyr, Sylvie right behind her.

As Sylvie passed back into the dungeon chamber, she looked over her shoulder and was gratified to see both magical torture wracks had been destroyed and that both giant fiends seemed very busy in trying to kill each other too much to come after them. She ran to join the others.

"What's the problem?" asked Sylvie as she joined everyone else in the mage's lab and study, taking back the light stick from Merla. She glanced around and saw the room had been devastated: the granite top table had been picked up and thrown and everything that had been on it and been destroyed or now lay on the floor. Thousands of gold pieces worth of narcotics and poisons, at least, were among the debris, as were various books and scrolls. The altar itself was destroyed, both staffs broken and cast aside. An angry looking hill giant sat in the next room breathing hard, looking singed, battered, and angry.

Merla answered. "That hill giant had a tantrum. I don't know what started it, but he was tearing up the lab. There were at least two explosions that hurt him with fire and shattered glass, but it just made him angrier. He took the whole thing apart. Looks like he's calming down, but who wants to go check?"

The half-drow pulled a short sword with a jagged edge and said in a harsh whisper, "I can take the giant from behind, weakening it further, if the rest of you will then attack it."

Sylvie quickly interrupted with, "Let me try something first! If he attacks me, then he'll be distracted and you make your attack. If he doesn't, I'll see if we can't get him to join us in our escape."

"Where are we?" asked the moon elf in the common tongue.

Sylvie left Merla there to explain things as they were all obviously running out of time.

"Hey!" said Sylvie, approaching the giant.

The giant leaped to his feet. "I smash you!"

"Or you could get out of here, back into the hills and mountains! Wouldn't you like that?"

"Away," said the giant forlornly, "Do what I want."

"I know the way out. You walk with me and my friends, because no one is likely to say anything with someone as big as you with us. And outside, you go where you want." She shrugged, "Or, you can remain a slave in Darkhold and burn yourself with more wizard stuff, your choice."

The giant shook his head emphatically. "I want to go, leave. You help?" Then he jumped up and roared as everyone came running out of the lab.

"Sylvie!" cried Merla, "the monsters just fell into the dungeon room! We have to go, NOW!"

Sylvie held her hands up to the giant. "It's okay, they're going to help us get out of here! Ready to go outside?"

The giant looked afraid. "Yes. Leave before big monsters get us." He led the way to the door.

Before he got there, the door opened, and Sergor came in, followed by a tiefling with 3 hellhounds on chains, an honor guard of 6 skeletons, and a score of hobgoblins behind her.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19: A KENDER IN DARKHOLD

The tiefling found the scene before her puzzling. That Sergor had been enspelled didn't surprise her, but that he wasn't used as fodder and not to challenge wizards baffled her. It was as if the wizard actually gave a damn about the one she enspelled, and that made her wonder what other uses she had in mind. Beyond carnal, she was stumped.

She'd heard from one of her spies who reported to her immediately upon the arrival with the patrol led by Sergor after the goblins that a new wizard had gone in, supposedly to kill Gristel and take his stuff—stuff her master Frendrick had designs upon and intended to lay claim to, and already she had a messenger to tell him of this new development—but even so she was not expecting to see the party before her that she did. Even knowing that there were others in here, she was momentarily stunned by the strangeness of it.

The hill giant in front was filthy, in tattered hide that no doubt had fleas, over 10 feet tall with a low forehead, stooped shoulders, and overlong arms. He stared at the tiefling and her party confused. This was surprising enough, but the hill giant was far from the strangest standing before her.

Behind him was Sylvie, still looking as if she were a human, and holding up her _light_ stick in one hand. Immediately behind her was Faelar, her black cat. Since he was her familiar there was no more chance of her tripping over him than over her own feet due to the empathic link they shared. The tiefling knew that familiars were as much an extension of an arcane spellcaster as they were a separate creature.

Just behind Sylvie and her familiar was Merla the halfling, short sword in one hand, and blue black cloak made from a displace beast that made the tiefling wonder if she was where she appeared to be. She knew well the magical properties inherent in such creatures.

Close behind her was Panwyr in his leather, holding a torch in one hand and his rapier in the other.

Beside him was a kender, though the tiefling had never seen one and assumed she was an exotic halfling of some kind, probably from Luiren given the pointed ears, at least if what she heard about Luiren halflings was correct. Barely taller than Merla and under 4 feet tall, she had light brown hair, intense blue eyes, small nose, ears pointed like an elf's, traditional kender topknot on her head tied with a purple ribbon, and a few wrinkles on her face shining with curiosity and excitement. She wore a bright green shirt with a gray elven sashling, brown britches and boots. The tiefling didn't recognize her webbed belt about her waist as a bollik, nor the sashik worn across her left shoulder and holding pouches as yet another weapon. And she wore many pouches all over, small and large, many of them of bright colors. What the tiefling found most curious, however, was the odd staff she carried. Not only was it even taller than the one carrying it, but it ended in a point so that it could conceivably be used as a spear, but the top was forked with a sling—no doubt one of her pouches held stones for it. But the most bafflling was how there was no fear in her eyes, simply curiosity.

Behind the half-elf and kender was a moon elf, with the pale skin and hair black with a hint of blue similar to Panwyr's, but her blue eyes had silver flecks instead of golden ones. And while Panwyr was dressed more practically, she wore a bold blue dress magically sparkling as if sunlight were reflecting off deep blue waters, stockings that seemed to somehow be reflecting moonlight covering her legs, and a black sash and polished black boots that seemed to be twinkling with starlight. A necklace bore a golden double heart, the classic symbol for love and lovers, and she also wore a gold brooch of a rose. Her face reflected fear and confusion, and the tiefling couldn't imagine how she got into Darkhold dressed like that without comment or her spies hearing of it.

Behind the moon elf was two grown males and a boy, side by side, both the men about 5 and a half feet tall, the boy on the verge of adolescence. The human adult was obviously Rashemi, given his thick black hair that reached down to his shoulders, stout build, and dusky skin. He wore studded leather and held a scimitar in one hand. The half-elf beside him was of a thin athletic build, flaxen-haired, and staring intensely at her with green eyes with silver flecks. Like the other half-elf, he wore leather and carried a rapier in one hand. He also wore the standard gray elven cloak and boots that many elves from Evereska did, items that would make it hard for him to be seen or heard when he desired to be stealthy. With his free hand he held the hand of a boy, a sickly urchin in tattered clothes by the looks of him, his face frozen in silent terror, both his hands squeezing onto the free hand of the half-elf.

Bringing up the rear were a human and a half-drow, both far apart from each other and the only ones of this eclectic lot looking like they belonged in Darkhold. The human was fair-skinned, dark-haired, taller than the Rashemi, and had a crafty, cautious look about him. The half-drow was dusky with silver hair as many of his kind were, and carried several obvious blades as well as leather and a black hooded cloak. Even so, she didn't recognize either of them.

Behind even them were several dead bodies that she could see had clearly been zombies once. Even a zombie ogre lay still now, returned to death. And in the background were horrendous roars, not deafening, but made her skin crawl with instinctive dread.

As for the tiefling, the first thing the group noticed was that her skin was crimson and she had small horns on her forehead. What immediately grabbed one's attention afterwards is that there were 3 crosses branded around her eyes to make each eye a twisted symbol of Baator. It was obvious to those who knew about the more evil side of magic and the lower planes that she'd sold her soul to some devil for power and practiced foul rites. . Finally, she wore leather boots dyed red, a crimson dress cut so that it exposed all of her arms and much of her legs, and a red cape with embroidery of flames.

Of course the large iron band in her right hand that held 3 chains, each connected to a reddish brown hell hound with glowing red eyes was also an attention grabber, as was the honor guard of 6 skeletons around her, all holding long swords. The score of hobgoblins behind her glaring balefully at the lot of them while casting nervous glances from where the gigantic fiends could be heard fighting were more of an afterthought.

The human Sergor was the first to speak. "Is Gristel dead?"

Sylvie nodded. "That's the good news."

"And the bad?" asked the tiefling.

"Uh, there's a goristro and ghargatula tearing the place up as they try killing each other."

The tiefling blinked at that, and she fought panic. "But…the notes, the tomes, the sensitive lab equipment, the sannish to be exported tomorrow, the liquid pain in which to pay the fiends and girding spells, the _racks of irresistible torture_…"

"Yeah," said Sylvie as if all this was mildly interesting, "all kinds of badness. Ironic how it's all being destroyed by a couple of fiends from the lower planes who can't seem to forget the Blood War."

Fury replaced panic on the tiefling's face. "YOU did this!"

Sylvie blinked in her own outrage. "Oh, sure, when in doubt, blame the kender." She overlooked that it WAS her that did this, that she was glad for the destruction of evil magic and lore, not to mention the addictive sannish drug, and that she appeared to be human at the moment. "I'd think a tiefling would be more sympathetic. Or maybe it was YOU who did this and now need a scapegoat, **tiefling**, or were you too pressed for time?"

The tiefling's mouth opened in shock at her temerity as she blinked in surprise and wrestled with growing rage.

Topknot spoke up. "Is someone blaming ME for this? Because I'd like to say that I'm completely innocent, and just as shocked and outraged by this as everyone else. It's probably that mage that zapped me here that did this, as he was prone to doing evil things. Hey! I think this is his place! He sure changed the décor around though. Did he use magic? And what's with all the dead bodies? I sure hope they were killed in self-defense."

As the tiefling was about to cast a fireball corrupted with diabolic energy at the lot of them in rage, there was a huge crash in the lab as the ghargatula was slung out, and then the huge pounding sound as the goristro charged in to tackle the other fiend in full view of all present.

"BANE'S BALLS!" shouted Sergor, his voice surprisingly high as he shouted it. Everyone without kender blood had an expression that agreed completely with Sergor's impious exclamation, and even Sylvie blinked nervously, her face showing anxiety, while Topknot stared in rapt wonderment.

"Yep," said Sylvie turning back from the fiends roughly the size of titans to address the tiefling, "that's some bad news all right."

The hill giant began shaking his head as he stared behind him in terror at the fiends even bigger than he was, and then charged blindly toward the tiefling and her party. Sergor wisely got out of his way, but the others either weren't so bright or weren't quick enough to move, and he crashed through them—though he got more burns for his trouble as the hellhounds breathed on him as he passed, as well as slashed by a couple of skeletons and a hobgoblin. But he kept going, screaming his pain and his fear of the gigantic fiends that was even greater, and running once he made it into the hall.

While this happened, Sylvie grabbed the components for a spell out of her magic belt and cast a spell, finishing just as the hill giant made fully into the hallway, that caused great hailstones to rain down on the tiefling and her band who'd been still trying to recover from being bowled over. It was devastating. The hobgoblins were beaten down and bloody, not a single one moving, the skeletons had been shattered into splintered bones, and the hell hounds had yipped before they also succumb to the hailstones. Even the tiefling fell, her scarlet clothes ripped and blood dripping from her still form.

"Yes!" shouted Sergor, "You're an amazing wizard!" He raced for the door as he shouted that, the others behind him. But as he passed the tiefling, she suddenly rose and brought wavy-bladed short sword down into his back. Sergor opened his mouth but no sound came out. His face grew gaunt and skull like as some terrible force ripped his life force from his body—and the wounds on the tiefling began to rapidly heal. Sergor finally fell lifeless, looking more like a dried husk than one freshly dead, and the tiefling took off running, shouting for guards.

The others—who stopped momentarily as the tiefling rose up and killed Sergor--ran out just as the 2 battling fiends brought their fight into the same room with them. Sylvie shut it and said, "At least it's magically locked."

Merla asked, "Can we get out the same way we got in?"

"Yes," said Sylvie, who was fighting to not feel bad for Sergor—who although evil, HAD trusted her, even if only because her magic compelled him to--as she quickly stashed her _light_ stick back into her haversack now that they were in the dimly lit hallways, "I have a spell…"

"Wait," said the Rashemi. "We," here he motioned to himself and the half-elf with flaxen hair, "came with a party. We're not leaving without them."

"Problem," said Sylvie, "you've been locked away in a state of suspended animation for about 20 years." When this was met with expressions of surprise, incomprehension, and disbelief, Sylvie added, "The last thing you all should remember is a wizard who pointed a staff at you, correct?" When she was met with nods or silence, she said, "The staff teleported you into a magical prison, which held you until called out to be interrogated, experimented on, sacrificed, or whatever. But the Harpers have the staff locked away and hasn't been used for nearly 20 years. I just broke the prison which released all the prisoners still left in it." They all looked at each other, but seemed to be less skeptical. "So if you came in with anyone who's not here now, they're not here."

"So it WAS you that let the fiends out!" shouted Topknot pointing at her, "and NOT me! I'm innocent!" Kender were well known for making molehills out of mountains, as well as occasionally making mountains out of molehills. It was just one more way kender kept other people off balanced without even trying.

Sylvie sighed. "By the way, Mom, I've grown up since you last saw me." So saying, she ended the illusion and returned to her normal half-kender features.

Topknot blinked in surprise, frowned, and then looked to Panwyr. She nodded slowly in acceptance. "Yes, he was different yesterday. It's hard to put my finger on it, but the cut of his hair wasn't like that, and there's something missing from his face that I can't place…"

The magically-sealed door banged, and splinters rained down from its hinges.

"Time to be headed elsewhere," said Merla, leading them back the way they came, toward the horrible buzzing sound of the wall crawling with vicious bugs, which they successfully skirted.

But when they turned back down the hall that led back to the giant stairs, they were soon met again by the tiefling, fully healed now and whose face showed controlled fury and resolve. Behind her were 40 human warriors in scale armor, holding heavy shields in one hand and a long sword in the other. And this time she had a new honor guard, but not animated skeletons. These were also 3 direguards, intelligent skeletons with inherent magical abilities and wearing armor made from the substance of shadows. Sinister red flames seem to burn in their otherwise empty eye sockets.

"You have destroyed 3 of my master's hounds," said the tiefling in a clipped tone, "you have destroyed many things in Gristel's lair needed by the Zhentarim, Darkhold, and my own master. Furthermore, the Pereghost has not summoned you. Those who found innocent of interfering with our operations will be ransomed, if any will pay it, while the rest will be made to pay for your crimes against us. Resist, and your punishment will be that much worse. Surrender!" She emphasized the last by pointing her wand at the lot of them.

The moon elf whispered in common, just loud enough to be heard by their eclectic party, "We cannot fight so many, but I don't trust them to ransom us!"

"We can't win," said Sylvie loudly, as she turned to the others. More quietly she said, "I'll get help," and then cast a quick spell while still facing them.

The tiefling's eyes widened. Her first thought upon not seeing the human wizard was that she teleported away to leave her companions to their fate, but she was suspicious over the half-elf child, one she hadn't seen before, having the same ridiculous topknot and equipment. But how could a child learn such wizardry, and why would an accomplished wizard wish to pass herself off as one so pathetically weak? She was still musing on this when she saw 3 lemures appear beside the half-elf facing away from her and charge.

"Dodge!" shouted Sylvie.

"Mephisto!" shouted the tiefling with the wand. A fireball corrupted with the energy of Hell sped toward the attacking fiends, as the eclectic group scattered. Among the lowliest of devils, lemures were mindless hatred that appeared as man-sized blobs of molten flesh, faces expression horrible anguish. To her chagrin, she not only missed, hitting between the attacking fiends and the lot wanted for questioning and punishment, the tiefling recalled that devils were immune to fire when she acted in panic and saw. "Attack the fiends!" she commanded the troops.

The group of odd infiltrators, or whatever they were, had mixed into 2 groups. One slowly retreating was the half-elf child she now knew to be the wizard that killed Gristel next to the 2 halflings, one having the same ridiculous topknot as the half-elf wizard, the Rashemi, and one of the male half-elves. The rest were running in full retreat. She briefly considered which to send the fireball after, and decided on the braver group. Again she called, "Mephisto!"

The lot of them, including the half-elf wizard, seemed to all have roguish training, with the exception of the Rashemi. The Rashemi did display mobility, but he got the worse of the ball of hellfire, whereas the others dodged successfully, only being singed by the outer blast.

Sylvie, for her part, was very unhappy to find the fireball burned her. Her magical ring should've shielded her from such a petty fireball, a feeble kind that a wizard that had just learned to cast the spell would cast. Part of the fireball was fiery energy, and that she was fully protected from. But there was unholy energy in the fireball as well, and that assaulted her magically, as it would anyone whose heart was aligned with any of the planes of goodness.

Meanwhile, Faelar approached the tiefling wizard invisible. The group had split in part to protect the child that would never survive any kind of hostile spell, let alone a fireball, but because Sylvie wanted to cast a couple of more spells, some had chosen to stay and guard her. Both spells had been cast on her familiar who then leaped away just as the fireball hit. He had to evade himself, but did so very well that he wasn't hurt at all. He continued to scramble toward the tiefling while Sylvie and the rest raced now at full speed to rejoin the others.

The tiefling noted that right after those who stood behind had dodged the corrupted fireball from her wand—as well as they could anyway—that they all were now in full retreat. In addition, the soldiers had formed a phalanx in an orderly fashion and had exchanged blows with the summoned lemurs. To the tiefling's surprise, two quickly vanished due to the mundane swords, and she wondered if they were illusion. Challenging what she was seeing in her head, she could see that the last one was just a bit of shadow stuff with the image of a lemure grafted over it.

"An illusion spell!" she shouted harshly. "It's an illusion, fools! It can't hurt you, just destroy it!" Technically, it COULD hurt them, but if they were able to see that it was an illusion, it wouldn't be able to hurt them much. In any case, their lives were cheap and she just wanted the illusion spell dealt with so they could begin pursuit.

She frowned as she noticed the 3 direguards turn their malevolent gaze into something on the ground. What, the tiefling wasn't sure, but they all raised their swords.

"OW!" The tiefling was shocked as she felt claws dig into her exposed leg just above her boot, drawing blood. Worse, magical energy was in that claw that assaulted all her mental abilities, the most important being her intelligence being suppressed. Suddenly, she couldn't recall any spells other than her cantrips. She struggled to recall what spell this was and then vaguely recalled it was an enchantment called _Touch of Idiocy_. At least it shouldn't last for more than a couple of hours.

And apparently the wizard had cast it into her familiar, since it was a touch spell and she couldn't deliver it herself, and sent her familiar invisibly to deliver it. Since the beast was still invisible after attacking, it was the better kind of invisibility spell.

But the direguards could see that which was invisible. One hacked at the invisible familiar and missed. Another cast 2 spell bolts from a skeletal finger, and the tiefling heard a horrendous feline yowl. But the other, its own bony finger glowing with eldritch energy, let the magic fade. That meant the horrid cat was either dead or escaped.

Meanwhile, Sylvie had stopped long enough to cast her _call familiar_ spell. As long as she was in range for their empathic link to function, she could teleport him harmlessly to within a couple of feet of her. He'd telepathically alerted her to when he'd discharged the spell and that he was being threatened when she cast the spell. Unfortunately, two _magic missiles_ hit him before she completed it. But he was safe now with her, and the scrolls to fortify him would help deal with the magical damage he suffered. She knelt down so he could leap into his _familiar pocket_ on her belt, and then stood to continue running with her companions.

They didn't get very far when those who'd run on ahead were running back, with over a score of goblins and hobgoblins after them, and a bugbear and ogre behind them.

The moon elf said, "Please say you have a spell for this!"

Sylvie sighed. She was quickly running out of spells. She wanted to get a scroll out, but the goblinoids and ogre were approaching too quickly, so she cast a _mass suggestion_. "Hey, you guys shouldn't be doing the dirty work of HUMANS! Go show the human Zhents behind us whose boss!" She hoped they understood the common speech, which given they took orders from humans they probably did.

The goblins and some hobgoblins paused and blinked, and the rest also slowed unsure as they lost their formation. Then one hobgoblin grinned and shouted in his guttural language before rushing off, some hobgoblins and all the goblins behind him. Now there were but a dozen hobgoblins, bugbear, and ogre.

Sylvie cast another spell. The ogre was in the process at shouting at the hobgoblins when he froze, caught under Sylvie's spell.

"That help enough?" asked Sylvie.

The Rashemi nodded, and charged the remaining hobgoblins with a primal shout, many others following, while the moon elf began a spell of her own, granting the blessing of her goddess. The boy remained behind the elven priestess, looking to see if anyone was coming up from behind.

The bugbear looked at the clashing of the party and hobgoblins and frowned. Then he looked at the ogre who stood, face and posture frozen and grinned. He buried his long sword into the ogre's back over and over before running away.

Then Sylvie pulled out her wand and shouted, "Prismo!" A cone of colors rushed toward 3 hobgoblins that were trying to surround Merla, and all 3 fell unconscious.

After that, in addition to losing 7 of their own (5 to the beserk Rashemi, 3 in one stroke) while failing to hurt anyone in turn, the rest ran the way the bugbear had gone.

From behind them, they heard the tiefling shout that the attacking goblins and hobgoblins were "only more illusions," and realized they'd better hurry. They took off after the hobgoblins knowing that the enspelled goblinoids wouldn't hold off the Zhents for long.

"Mom," said Sylvie as they passed the wall of crawling insects at a slower pace, "can you show us how you got out of here?"

"Sure," answered Topknot. "and we went the opposite way from where you led us, not toward the stairs."

"That's something," said Sylvie. "Just remember, it was about 20 years ago that you went this way, though it seems only like yesterday. Things may have changed."

The turned the hallway from which they came and raced to the chamber they'd found themselves in. They were relieved that while the door was damaged, it still stood. They heard nothing and wondered if either of the fiendish beasts were still alive in there and decided to keep going in case the answer was yes.

They came to another hallway and turned in the opposite direction than they had the last time, seeming go even further into Darkhold. Yet Topknot seemed sure of where she was going, and no one else had any better ideas. They came to another large staircase, only this one was spiraling and made of iron, but still large enough for giants to use, with spaces enough between steps for someone the size of a human to fall through and down if she weren't careful.

Here they walked more stealthily, and as they did, the moon elf spoke quietly to the Rashemi before casting a healing spell on him. Then she came to the half-kender. "You seem hurt, may I be of assistance?"

"Yeah, the spell battles here suck. Two mages, and one did vile damage to me and the other unholy damage from a wand of corrupted fireballs."

"There is much ugliness here," agreed the moon elf. "I fear that if any of us is to make it out, we need you and the Rashemi most, and perhaps this odd one you call 'mom' if she truly knows a way out of here."

When Sylvie nodded, the moon elf cast a spell that soothed her wounds. It didn't make her as good as new, but it was an improvement.

Speaking in Elvish, she asked, "Do you know where the ugly-spirited human and half-drow have gone?"

Sylvie looked around, and sure enough, there weren't there. "No, I guess they decided to take their chances on their own." She reflexively answered in Elvish.

"Or they know something about the way we go that the rest of us do not. But I am glad they are gone," replied the elf, "there was an ugliness to both of them."

"So how did you get to be here anyway?"

"I am with the Chaperones of the Moonlight Tryst," the elf answered, "and a Goldheart of Hanali Celanil. I was helping a lonely half-elf elope with her human lover in the Greycloak Hills who was leaving with a caravan. I was successful, but as I was leaving I saw a human, one who struck me as being ugly in spirit as he smiled a cruel smile, and he pointed his staff at me. And then I was here." She then asked, "How did you come to be here?"

Not having the time to explain everything, she simply said, "I realized my mom was trapped here and came to rescue her. I couldn't bring the staff because if I did, I'd only be able to rescue my mom and no one else, and if the Zhents got it back, they could call any and all of you out for various…ugliness."

"I am glad to be released," she said. "I am Jastra Eveningfall, and I am in your debt."

"I am Sylvie Starblossom, and glad to be of service."

"Starblossom? Yes, I know of your family in Evereska." She blinked, as she stared at her dad. "He's the half-human son of the Mischiefmaker, isn't he?"

"Yes," answered Sylvie. "He knew love and beauty with my mom, but she was taken and he assumed she was destroyed. It has robbed him of his joy and he left me to be raised with the hin in Corm Orp."

Jastra nodded sympathetically. "We have talked of you, us Goldhearts. You are seen as a symbol of love uniting two separate worlds, though I admit ours is a minority position." She shook her head as she added, "It is harsh to lose beauty in one's life, but important to always rebuild it, lest evil work its way into a body's soul. Without beauty, we all become prisoners of Darkhold, whether we know it or not. At best we live joyless lives, and that's no life at all."

"Tell that to the Harmonium," said Sylvie, though she was flattered how the Goldhearts in Evereska spoke of her. "They're chasing me and my dad both."

"Harmonium?"

"A group involved in enforcing universal harmony—or else. Emphasis on 'harm' in their name."

She shook her head. "How can they be that bad? After all, you can't have harmony without joy and beauty."

"You're thinking like an elf, not a Hardhead," answered Sylvie. "We understand the 'you and the we,' the importance of living in harmony with nature, the importance of beauty to fight evil, and Maeral's dream of interracial harmony such as practiced in places like Silverymoon. But the Harmonium only understands order through military might, and equates peace with submission to their hierarchy. The elves native to their world were killed in genocidal wars because elves wouldn't 'harmonize.' And they count devils among their membership." When she noticed that Jastra blinked and took on an expression of horror, she added, "Sorry, just thought you should know that even after we get out of Darkhold, we may have to still deal with them. Hopefully they won't care about the rest of you."

"I am in your debt, Sylvie Starblossom, and that of your father's. I will stand with you."

"They can get pretty ugly," warned Sylvie.

"Then perhaps Hanali has sent me to you to combat the ugliness."

"That would be nice," admitted Sylvie, even if she didn't really believe it.

By now they'd all reached the bottom of the stairs in an area that seemed to be more dungeon space than part of the castle proper. There were torches that gave off a magical light, so it was difficult to tell how often this level was used by the residents.

Topknot stopped at an intersection and peered around it. Then looking back she whispered in the common tongue, "There's a locked gate up ahead that had a poisoned needle trap in it yesterday, and a pit trap just beyond it. And now there are guards there today at a table! I think they're playing a game of cards."

"How many guards?" asked Merla.

"I'd guess about a dozen."

"We need a distraction, and we need one fast," said Merla. Then looking to Sylvie, she asked, "How are you on your spells?"

"I've got a couple," said Sylvie, "but I'd like to save them if I can. I know, I'll use my spell to put them to sleep, but it can't get all of them."

Topknot really wanted to be helpful. "Maybe I have something that can help," she said quietly, but still more than a whisper, as she began rifling through her many pouches. "Let's see, sea shells, no. Fork? Maybe later. Candle? Not yet…"

"Do you think you can be a little more quiet?" asked Merla in a whisper. "Your pointless chatting defeats the point of footpadding."

"If we get caught," said Topknot, who was at least whispering now, "it will help us look like we belong if we're having a casual conversation." She didn't see all the looks of skepticism that comment brought as she was still looking through pouches. "Oh, hey," whispered Tara, "marbles! I knew I hadn't lost them."

Merla rolled her eyes and asked, also in a whisper, "Don't you have some decent caltrops?"

"Marbles work," insisted Topknot. "Now watch a pro talk her way past the guards!"

And before anyone could stop her, the fool kender jogged around the corner.

Cringing, they all heard shouts and a chair crashing, and then Topknot yelling, "Reinforcements are needed in the castle! The goblins are revolting and we're being invaded by Hellriders!"

"Halt!"

"Hey, you don't think I'm the invader, do you? I'd be pretty silly to invade Darkhold, don't you think? Even if I were, then I'd have to have cut down a lot of warriors to get here so you wouldn't want to mess with me anyway. Hurry up, you have to stop the villainy at Darkhold now!"

Another voice added, "Stop NOW! And shut UP!"

Topknot shook her head, and continued in a really shrill voice, ignoring the repeated commands to be silent as she did so. "You know, everyone has the right to be stupid, but you people abuse the privilege! No wonder you're down here in a filthy basement instead of with the REAL fighters. Either that or so it's the babies don't shriek upon seeing your face, and the sun go down from your ugliness. I know the other ladies above were telling me they were glad you guys were kept down here because you're all so ugly, and one who said you're too ugly has a goblin for a boyfriend. Heck, my own dog licks his butt but I bet he won't lick any of YOUR faces. I bet when you all were babies your mommies didn't know which end to stick the diaper on. Don't tell me to shut up, I mean it's not like you're down here because you're good guards. Even people like me say whatever the hell we want to goblin foot lickers like yourselves."

"Oh, that's it," said a voice hotly. Several more shouts followed, while her party were cringing, especially hard as Topknot ran past them and kept going with 13 armored men in pursuit.

The kender taunt was an extraordinary effect that was almost magical. It was more than creative use of insults, but in how kender used their voice, body language, the whole bit. It caused the big folk to lose their discipline, to break their ranks, to foster chaos in brawls and riots, and do something stupid like chase after the kender taunting them and leaving a gate unguarded. Sylvie briefly reflected on how it was nearly the exact opposite extraordinary effect that some Hardheads had learned to do to make others obey.

"Not bad, if she survives," said Merla, as she looked around the corner. "Not a single one left. Let's go."

They raced to the gate, one that had been built by humans luckily so that climbing was unnecessary, and Merla rubbed her hands before reaching in for her picks. Then she frowned and her face became frantic. Finally she stood up and turned around, saying in a low but intense voice, "Damn…kender!"

"Mom took your picks," guessed Sylvie. When Merla, face especially red with rage and embarrassment, nodded, she sighed. "I better get Mom back." After turning down offers to come with her, she ran as fast as she could.

Luckily, her mom hadn't gotten far. She was dodging, ducking, proving to be extremely slippery as they tried to seize her. The men used no strategy, all just furious and wanting desperately to be the one to knock the teeth out of her head with a gauntleted fist. She threw some more marbles down and made fun of the one who fell and others trying to keep their balance as well as bashing another with her hoopak. Then she pulled a stone and shot it from the sling atop her hoopak at one of the men balancing on the marbles, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Mom!" shouted Sylvie in Kenderspeak, "you borrowed Merla's picks and she really needs them now."

Her mom answered in the same language. "Oh, I'm sorry. She wasn't using them so I thought it was ok if I looked at them for awhile."

"She needs to use them now." So saying, she shot a soldier with a cold arrow, and it was enough to put him down.

"Nice shot," congratulated Topknot.

"Mom! Give Merla back her things!"

"Oh, right." So saying she ran back the way she came.

She had another cold arrow nocked at the guards as she worried about them chasing her mom back to the gate where her friend needed time to pick the trapped lock. She decided she'd have to turn their rage from her mom toward her instead. In the common speech, she said, with a slightly smug smile, "I can't believe you fell for our trick. You're so stupid, I bet you lose more of your brains every time you use a chamber pot."

"You're both dead," said one passionately.

Sylvie acted as if she smelled something. "I smell something stupid." Then sneering, she said, "Oh, it's just you. You all must be why they call this section 'dorkhold'." At that point the man shrieked and ran at her and she shot him, and he fell back as he slipped on some marbles. He ripped the arrow out and got back up, rage still contorting his features as the others also began to run after her. Sylvie ran, and the men after her, Topknot forgotten for the moment.

But as Sylvie reached the iron steps and saw a squad of soldiers coming down with the same priest of Cyric that challenged her at the entrance, and the guards not far behind her, she remembered the downside of kender taunts: kender caught while those they insulted were still in a rage typically met a very brutal end

She sighed as she cast about the second to last powerful spell she had left not on a scroll, the same spell that she'd escaped the Hardheads with on Arborea. This time she gave her illusory double an image of her sithak, scythe blades out, running forward with a look of cold resolve on her face. Not only would the guards continue to follow, but the ones coming down, not enraged beyond common sense, would slow down to meet her charge. That should buy a little more time.

Invisible, she ran past the charging guards and came back to find Merla had just opened the gate, still muttering unhappily.

"Hey," said Topknot to Merla, "be glad I was keeping them safe for you, or someone might've stolen them."

Sylvie got there just in time to put a hand over Merla's mouth. As Merla jumped startled, Sylvie said invisibly, "It's me! Reinforcements are coming down the stairs, we've got to hurry!"

"Ok," whispered Merla harshly, "but didn't the barmy kender say something about a pit ahead?"

"Right here," said Topknot. She hit a stone with her hoopak and a pit door fell open. The rest could see a 20 foot drop, showing it was intended for human-sized trespassers rather than giants. "Still clean," she observed. "Watch this." So saying she tossed a stone down into a puddle of water and it instantly grew to encompass it before falling back down. "An ooze that eats anything that gets in. Slick, huh?"

"Let's just go," said Merla sourly.

After shutting the gate, they ran around the pit trip and kept going. They hustled awhile, hearing distant voices behind them, until Topknot paused by a door and rubbed her chin. Then nodding, she began picking the lock while Merla watched curiously. The door opened to some dusty stairs and there was no light, so Sylvie (still invisible) pulled her _light_ stick out and they entered the dark stairway, locking the door behind them. After they got down the steps, Sylvie cast a simple cantrip to make the steps completely dusty again, to appear as if they hadn't been walked on at all.

"Careful," Topknot warned matter of factly, "there were carrion crawlers here last time. Hungry, too."

"I doubt they're here now," said Sylvie, who'd spent time studying underdark ecology. "There are so many cobwebs and so much dust that there isn't anything cleaning it off. Someone cleared out the carrion crawlers. At least for here, they might show up later on."

Panwyr shook his head. He'd actually forgotten about the carrion crawlers he and Topknot faced down here, but the memory was vivid now. Actually, he just had a very bad sense of déjà vu that spooked him about all this more than a little.

Squeaking bats broke the silence, but they didn't attack. Apparently they were the pest control down here. Hopefully there were no giant spiders.

"Pandemonium had some interesting tunnels," commented Topknot, who was finding the walk boring. "There was always a wind blowing. I couldn't ever find out where it came from, and I tried and tried before I found Panwyr. I think the gods put the wind there because as long as it had infinite planes to blow on, it couldn't get so powerful as to blow the sun and moons out of the sky of regular worlds. That's why they made Pandemonium all caverns, too, to hold the wind in. That wind really got on my nerves, but I had to find out where it came from and never did. But I saw a lot of interesting things. Did you know there are some bloods living there that sail the air by catching the wind in their hats?"

Merla shook her head. "Hate to say it Sylvie, but I think your mom spent too much time being blasted by Pandemonium's maddening winds." She blinked as she realized she could see her friend now. "I just wondered why that wizard would keep such a kender as your mom."

"I don't know," shrugged Sylvie. "Maybe he never saw one before and was curious. Maybe he had a very special punishment in mind or needed a sacrifice. He's long dead, so we can't ask him."

"Maybe he wanted his stuff back that I borrowed," said Topknot casually.

Panwyr and Sylvie both stopped, stunned.

"Say what?" asked Panwyr deadpanned.

"Let's see," said Sylvie, digging through her pouches, putting some stuff back, and putting other stuff down in front of her. The pile in front of her included a wand, a potion, a brooch, a candle (the one she'd pulled out before when looking for her marbles), bottle of grease, a bag of powder, and an emerald that made Merla's eyes widened.

Pulling out her lenses, Sylvie whistled lightly and she viewed the swag through them. "It's almost all magical. The emerald isn't…"

"The emerald," whispered Merla excitedly, "is worth thousands of gold pieces! That's magic enough!"

"Emeralds put to wands holding enchantment spells are harder to resist, and that one could be cut down for multiple wands," observed Sylvie. "This bag of powder smells like alchemist's mercy, a cure for hangovers, but not magical. The grease looks like firebane, protecting the one who smears himself with it from fire for a short time, also mundane." She frowned at the candle. "This is magical, but there's something foul about it. I'd like to take a closer look at it later if you don't mind." She handed the candle back to her mom.

"Oh, there's this, too," said Topknot. "It's interesting, but I don't think I like it." She pulled out a black stone and instantly began crying, and then sobbing, while the others stared bemusedly concerned, and Sylvie blinked.

Then Sylvie's eyes widened. "That's a weeping stone! Throw it away!"

"Why?" asked a weeping Topknot. "I found it."

"It's a specially crafted stone that requires terrible, even lethal, pain to be inflicted on a person who the stone is touching. It hurts anyone who's touched by it afterwards, just as it's hurting you!"

"I guess," said a sad Topknot. "It sure doesn't sound very nice." So saying, she chunked it and it skipped a few times before resting, and they heard rats squeaking wherever it landed. Tears continued to fall down Topknot's face.

"It's ok," said Panwyr, putting an arm around her. "We're getting you out of here."

"The effect will pass quickly enough," said Sylvie. "Gods, I hate this place!"

After about a minute, Topknot finally stopped crying and began putting the borrowed momentos from the evil mage that had imprisoned her back into her pouches. As they all began to walk again, her eyes again took on the spark of interest as she looked around and led them the way she'd previously escaped the evil stronghold.

The others talked, and Sylvie learned that the flaxen-haired half-elf was named Levin Evenwood, and he was a Harper. The Rashemi was named Borivik Starakoga, and he'd once been enslaved to a Red Wizard with a magical ring that caused him intense pain and would kill him if he removed it, but was saved by Levin and the two had been fast friends since then. Before returning to Rashemen from his _dajemma_, the rite to adulthood most Rashemi males took where they'd travel and see the world, he hoped to clearly have saved his friend as his friend had once saved him.

And they'd both come to Darkhold with a handful of others to liberate slaves. It had gone very poorly when their halfling thief set off a trap that imprisoned them in a magical force field and a sinister mage pointed his staff at them. They didn't know why the rest of their party didn't show up with them, and it was probably best they didn't know. Like Panwyr, they thought those that vanished had been destroyed.

Jastra shared little other than she was a minor priestess in Evereska for Hanali Celanil, the elven goddess of love and beauty. Sylvie told them what little she knew of Darvin, the little boy, and had Levin and Borivik promise to deliver the boy to the Ladyhouse in Corm Orp to see if they couldn't find him a proper home. No one commented on the missing human and half-drow, though Topknot wondered aloud what had happened to the scared hill giant.

Sylvie was just starting to tell them of the Hardheads chasing her when she frowned as she noticed the floor getting less dusty and with cracks holding foul water in it. "The floor's changing," she said.

Bits of light could be seen above, and there was various bits of filth and refuse on the floor under them, as were rats, some of them huge and possibly diseased. Sylvie looked around cautiously knowing that if there were carrion crawlers about, this was a place they'd be drawn to.

"S-s-sunl-light," said the boy. "N-never th-th-thought I'd s-see it a-again."

"There can't be more than a couple of hours of daylight left," said Merla unhappily. "I guess that means we ride through the night."

Soon enough, the floor became dry again and they continued on. But after awhile they heard a horrible smacking noise, as if more than one creature was gorging itself on something.

"What's that?" whispered Merla.

Sylvie shook her head and called Faelar out with a low voice and her empathic link to him, having him creep up at the edge of the firelight and scout ahead. Having him do things like this was just one reason she had so many protection spells placed on him.

Less than a minute later, she gasped. "We got ghouls," whispered Sylvie grimly to the rest. Then her eyes widened. "And they're coming this way." She saw Faelar, who was marveling that they could smell him over the smell of decay, and raced as fast as he could back into his wizard's _familiar pocket_.

A half dozen ghouls, looking like corpses with decayed purple flesh stretched tight over bones, eyes burning in the darkness, surrounded by the stench of death, charged them hungrily.

The boy screamed and sobbed, holding onto the flaxen-haired half-elf, who drew his rapier with his free hand.

"Move," said Jastra sternly. She raised her golden heart medallion and called upon her goddess to turn away the attacking ghouls. The ghouls stopped and raised their hands, turned and fled.

"I was just barely able to do that," admitted Jastra. "Let us leave this place with as much speed as we can."

They soon came to another dusty hallway filled with rows of stairs, each leading up to a door, and came across two mostly devoured corpses. Apparently these two entered when they shouldn't. And it was up those stairs that Topknot led them now.

"This is a place for visitors," said Topknot. "So we can act natural."

"Wait," said Sylvie. "Who can change their appearance magically?" Only the Levin said he could. "I can, too," she said, "and I can give the illusion to up to 6 others. So let me see…" Chanting, she changed the appearance of Jastra, Borivik, and Panwyr into Zhentilar soldiers that she'd seen next to the Cyricist that challenged her when she entered the castle. She made Merla, Topknot, and Darvin look like goblins.

"Oooh, I've been magicked!" said Topknot excitedly, as she checked out her new features as best she could. "Anyone got a mirror?" Sylvie handed her a mirror and she made various faces at herself before she broke out laughing and Sylvie snatched it back. Satisfied, she asked, "So you're a wizard now? Do you do parties?"

"Yes, I do," answered Sylvie, before changing herself to appear as a cleric of Cyric.

Levin sighed and made himself appear as such a priest as well.

They entered the building and walked unmolested to the next room Topknot led them to, and from there she opened a secret door, leading them through another unused tunnel, one with deadly traps, but she remembered well how to bypass them. They looked for new traps but didn't find any, and little sign that the passageway had been used much at all in the last 20 years. But there was enough bat guano from the bats to cover up most tracks.

They came out, magical disguise still in check, as the sun was beginning to set.

"The faster we get out of here, the better," said Merla.

Sylvie agreed and walked imperiously toward the stables where their mounts were kept. No one wanted to mess with a priest of Cyric and "his" entourage and they were left alone all the way as they walked toward the stables.

Unfortunately, they saw the tiefling and a dozen guards around the stables with their mounts.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20: A ROCK AND A HARDHEAD

"Let's go to another stable," said Sylvie, and the others agreed.

They were watched by the tiefling as they entered another stable, but not molested. Merla complained about a lack of ponies as she accepted she'd have to ride with Sylvie. Topknot would ride behind Panwyr, and since the boy didn't know how to ride, he was going to ride behind Borivik.

Just as they were about to leave, an opaque shield of energy shimmering violet erected itself across the entrance. The others gasped and stopped.

Sylvie spat in frustration as she noticed through slits and holes in the wood that there were at least a couple of people standing beside the entranceway, no doubt with weapons ready, and whispered, "Someone dispelled my spell on her, because that's a magical screen that will dispel our spells when we go out," she warned. "Since hiding here isn't an option, I say we brave it, and if it dispels our spells—which it may fail to do—we race for the gate."

"But the wand!" hissed Merla.

"Let me try something. When I leave, you follow. Prepare missile weapons. Mom, don't throw anything you don't want to lose." She blinked at the sight of her mom as a goblin salute her gamely and nod.

She then cast a simple illusion spell that would make her voice come seem to originate elsewhere, one she normally liked to combine with an invisibility spell. Then she LOUDLY said, sounding as if from the stables holding the mounts that they'd brought with them, "The pony is mine and I'm sick of you whining for it! Give it to me or I leave you with the goblin-kissing Zhents!" Then motioning forward, she urged her horse to hustle out, prepared to release her wand.

Unfortunately, she felt her spell fizzle, her form resuming its true half-kender appearance, and the spell fading from the others to reveal them as they truly were, as did Levin's own spell. The tiefling was facing the other stables, wand pointed and the guards putting distance between them and the stable. Sylvie pulled her wand.

The tiefling turned, as 2 crossbow bolts hit her.

Just before the tiefling could trigger her wand, Sylvie called out, "Prismo!" The cone of colors raced toward her, and while it didn't drop her, she blinked, momentarily stunned and blinded by the swirling lights. The 2 guards with her, however, fell unconscious.

Sylvie kicked her horse into a gallop, the others following. As they neared the gates, 8 guards rushed out, and Sylvie cast another spell, hoping her concentration wouldn't break from the ride. It succeeded, and 5 guards fell into a magical slumber. The remaining 3 fired crossbows, and the Rashemi and half-elf beside him were grazed. Sylvie used her wand again and the remaining guards fell unconscious.

They were free of Darkhold.

Sylvie noted the footprints of a hill giant and figured that he must've actually made it out, too. Quite possibly if it hadn't been for him there'd have been even more guards, so she was grateful, but also hoped that they didn't ever meet in the wild since hill giants were rarely nice.

It wasn't long before they heard shouts and knew that there was mounted pursuit. They hurried along with full speed.

The twilight was deepening when they noticed birds flying away ahead, and a trail of dust in the air. Sylvie motioned for a halt.

"I don't think now's a good time to stop," said Merla harshly behind her, squeezing her tighter.

"People ahead," noted Borivik. "A merchant caravan trying to make Darkhold before nightfall?"

Around the bend came human figures who were still too distant to make out clearly, but their Harmonium heraldry marked them well to those familiar with it.

"What?" asked Sylvie in frustration. "Did those Hardheads use a _wand of haste_ on all their horses or what!? Surely they don't ALL have magic horseshoes!" Shaking her head, she said, "Everyone follow me. I have a plan." So saying, she turned her horse back to the way of the Zhents pursuing them. As she did, she explained as briefly as she could who the Harmonium were and that they were after her, Merla, and her dad, and told them what she intended to do. "If any of you want to slip away, now's a good time to do it." There were a lot of them looking uncertain, but none chose to leave.

And so after the Zhents were seen, they turned and galloped away. Sure enough, the Zhents were right behind them.

As they approached the Harmonium, some put on fierce faces and acted as if they were in a charge while others whooped in seeming excitement.

Measure Tyrm was amazed to see what he believed was the wizard leading an army of chaos at him and his men. Sure enough, once out of Corm Orp, he'd gone back with others using the _cubic gate_ to get a magic wand that held a higher level version of _expeditious retreat_ which lasted much longer, which allowed the mounts to move & jump twice their normal ability for hours per charge. They'd rested a minimal amount of time before their Steeleye summoned a _Hero's Feast_ to help sustain the men and they continued on. Given that the fugitives had been slowed down once they rode to Darkhold in the company of Zhents, they'd had more time to catch up. Of course, Measure Tyrm didn't know that, all he knew was that he'd followed the kender wizard here and now she was attacking them with some fighters! He KNEW that she was in league with Darkhold, as probably was Corm Orp.

The Zhents figured that the Harmonium were allies to the fugitives THEY were after. They were about evenly matched, they knew the wizard they pursued was about out of spells and relied more on illusions anyway. And given that they were led by Frendrick, accompanied by his imp familiar and his tiefling apprentice, they figured they still held the advantage—and would literally rather die than disappoint Frendrick.

They didn't slow, though Frendrick did let himself fall to the back as he ordered the others onward. He wanted some serious payback for the losses he endured, even if what he lost had been in the possession of his rival Gristel at the time it was lost. Darkhold itself lost a fortune of narcotics and liquid pain, as well as having their operations severely damaged in the short term, due to the chaos and weal these interlopers had brought to Darkhold—a fortress of evil that he knew deep down he was to rule someday. Someone had to pay. And if those fighters approaching wanted a fight, he'd give them hell to pay—literally.

Before actually meeting the Hardheads in combat, Sylvie turned away, and the others followed.

But they passed within range of Steeleye Bors, about half way between the clashing forces, he issued forth his magical attack. His spell was harmful to those whose hearts were not aligned with the planes of law. They all evidenced distress but kept going. And then the Zhentish troops were upon the Harmonium troops and the Steeleye's attention was turned away. None of the attacking fighters had fallen to the spell, but he wasn't certain if any were in range or not as he cast it.

And then he was hit by a powerful lightning bolt that coursed through him and his metal armor, before the lightning bolt hit Tyrm and then Dundgragon, and then began cutting through the Notaries.

"Inflammaro!" Dundragon had responded with his staff of fire, sending a fireball toward the wizard that had cast the chain lightning bolt. The fireball hit, but he seemed mostly unhurt, being more hurt by his falling horse succumbing to fiery death than the fireball itself. Then he cast another fireball at the attacking soldiers centered by the tiefling he saw casting a spell. He nodded to himself as men and horses toppled aflame, including the tiefling. As the tiefling began to rise, he shot forth 5 _magic missiles_ and she collapsed, lying on the field of battle. Enough Zhentish soldiers were dead to make up for the Notaries that had died in the magical chain lightning bolt, too.

Suddenly Dundragon shrieked in agony, as he doubled over and fell off his horse, collapsing on the ground whimpering. Blisters rose on his hands and face, dripping disgusting fluid, and red obscured his vision as he began crying tears of blood. He recognized this spell as one of the more loathsome and evil of the necromantic school, but was too wracked with pain to tell anyone.

Tyrm glanced at Dundragon when he felt a painful sting upon his face, almost right in his eye. He jerked away and felt venom fall harmlessly on his face, though it did sting uncomfortably, and also felt some of his life force ripped right out of him.

"Bors!" He yelled, "Something invisible just attacked me with a sting and magic! Dispel it!"

Steeleye Bors, though deeply concerned for his friend, went to do his duty, casting a field that would purge all invisibility as he went by Tyrm's side. Then he narrowed his eyes as a hamatula appeared and began his attack. Like their hamatula superior officer, it was 7 feet tall, covered with barbs, had long, sharp claws, and intense eyes that seemed to be forever glancing around nervously.

"I don't think they can be allied with the kender," he said, "these who call upon baatezu. The half-kender wizard is misguided and full of weal. It seems we have a common enemy."

Measure Tyrm snarled. "They call devils to mock us, by enslaving the paragons of law and turn them against us! She KNOWS who sent us, and this proves it!" So saying, Measure Tyrm drove his bastard sword to the hamatula in a cold rage just after it had tore up one of his Notaries.

Steeleye Bors hid his doubt about the judgment of his superior officer and continued to do his duty. He cast a _dispel magic_ that returned the devil back to the hell from which it was summoned.

Then an imp appeared as it entered Bors field that dispelled invisibility effects and attempted to sting Measure Tyrm again. Measure Tyrm seeing the tiny fiend dodged, but the stinging tail, while failing to fully penetrate his armor to deliver its venom, still managed to send forth a painful electrical shock before flying away from his sword.

"It's a familiar," said Bors. "The wizard is casting touch spells into it and then using it to touch you. I suspect we're dealing with a diabolist, one who is in league with the forces of Hell in hopes of achieving great, if evil, personal power."

"It's in league with the kender!" shouted a furious Tyrm. "The diabolist may he a champion of law, but he still opposes universal harmony and has sided with the kender wizard against us! I want him taken down!"

Suddenly, Bors gasped, and dropped his magical bastard sword and fell forward, though he remained on his horse.

"What is it?" asked Measure Tyrm, beginning to feel fear.

"Evil necromancy, like that which affected Dundragon," he said with surprising calm. "I can't move my arms. It doesn't last long, but I can't guard you right now."

The imp returned again, but this time it unexpectedly went for Bors. The imp's stinging tail found a break in the helpless man's armor and smiled wickedly at Measure Tyrm as it injected its venom—and its spell. While Bors was protected by clerical magic against poison, he wasn't so protected from yet another spell of evil and necromancy, one channeling pure hatred and spite, and using a drug illegal in most places as a spell component, as well as a touch of liquid pain to make the spell harder to resist, the touch spell caused whoever was touched to suffer a massive heart attack. Bors had good fortitude, but it wasn't enough against the spell made more powerful still by liquid pain. Now he did fall off his horse, gasping, and even Measure Tyrm could see his skin turning a sickly gray as he succumbed to death. The last thing he saw was the laughing imp fly away and become invisible again.

He looked around in the growing twilight of dusk and saw that most Notaries pursued the fleeing Zhentish soldiers. It looked that for all their losses, the Harmonium would prevail, at least if they could overcome the diabolist.

But the evil wizard rose, carried by the same kind of magic that allowed Sylvie to fly earlier and flew gracefully to where the Zhentarim were fighting a retreat with the Notaries, and cast yet another spell. This one instantly killed every single soldier fighting, both of the Harmonium and the Zhentarim, and even some of the horses, who instantly fell dead, even those who had, just a moment before, a sword raised, confident in impending victory. Measure Tyrm shook his head and blinked in amazement at such depravity—while he would order men to their death if it benefited the cause, he didn't so flagrantly waste them as this evil wizard did.

The wizard landed among the bodies of the fallen and began putting something in the mouth of the corpses, seeming to favor the dead Notaries over the Zhentish warriors. Then looking up and smirking, he cast another spell deliberately.

Measure Tyrm was horrified to see his own dead Notaries rise up, and doubly so when they came forward at the command of the evil wizard who ordered them to kill their former superior officer.

Just as Measure Tyrm regretfully began to reach for his _cubic gate_, to once again shamefully report failure and defeat, a lightning bolt lashed out, and Tyrm swore he saw an outline of a screaming imp atop the mage's shoulder dance a quick jig before vanishing, and he definitely saw the evil wizard shrieking in raw fury.

Dundragon was back in the fight, and seeing him kill the imp familiar restored Measure Tyrm's morale. His face was covered with the blood he cried and was obviously trembling, but he was resolute. Having killed the imp, he looked around and hurried to pick up his _staff of fire_.

The evil wizard's face radiated such intense hatred as he rose off the ground to fly toward Dundragon that Measure Tyrm couldn't recall ever seeing it that pure on the face of a mortal before. The diabolist sent forth a dark energy from his hands that blasted at Dundragon, surely causing him intense pain. Then he finished him off with 5 _magic missiles_. Then, landing next to the dead war wizard, he looked to Measure Tyrm with a baleful glare of hatred and contempt.

Tyrm wasn't sure if he was close enough, but he had to try to reach him before the wizard got off another spell. He charged on his mount, sword at the ready, and activated his _ring of spell turning_ with the command word, "Arteus." The evil wizard sneered in contempt as he said a word, but was surprised when he found himself being thrown backwards magically.

Standing up, his face furious, he cast another spell, this one that sent forth a bolt of black energy that hit Tyrm's horse, causing it to fall over dead, Measure Tyrm painfully caught in the fall. By the time he got out from under his horse, the animated zombies of his former Notaries were upon him. Getting up, he lashed out with his magic bastard sword.

Fendrick asked contemptuously as he watched the leader of the war band fight the zombies of his former troops, "Did you think you could stop us? You've merely inconvenienced us. I don't know who you are, but when I'm done, you'll sing, oh yes, you'll sing."

As Measure Tyrm cut down more zombies, he gritted out, "Why don't you ask your allies at Corm Orp or the kender wizard who I am, if you want to know who I am." It was an accusation of sorts as much as a rhetorical question.

Frendrick blinked. Finally, he shook his head and said simply, "You are a fool, and not worth interrogating. I doubt I'll even animate your corpse, though if Gristel were still around, I'd present it to him for violation." He then walked toward Dundragon's staff.

Cleaving through another zombie, Measure Tyrm prepared a surprise he liked to give arrogant wizards, as he raced toward him. Just as the evil wizard began picking up the staff, he raised a pistol and aimed. As the evil wizard turned to point his staff at Tyrm, he saw the pistol in his hand, and blinked in confusion as he fired.

The bullet went right through the evil wizard's face and exited the other side, spitting forth brain in its deadly passage. It was so perfect, so deadly, a hit, that it was what many experienced fighters liked to call a "critical hit." His dire gaze was still on his ruined face as he fell over dead.

For a brief moment, Tyrm congratulated himself again on learning to use this exotic weapon while serving aboard a Clipper Spelljammer patrolling Orthospace. Had only he met this kender wizard back when she was traveling wildspace herself, he could've showed her this same surprise as he'd shown many other arrogant wizards in the past.

But he allowed himself only a moment since those left of his own former Notaries were now upon him again. With his magical bastard sword, protected by his magical plate armor, he began to hack apart his former men. Each time he struck a zombie down, he swore again he'd make that half-kender of moon elf blood pay for all the chaos she spread and her wickedness in thwarting universal harmony.

After he killed the last zombie, he reloaded his pistol, as it could hold only one bullet at a time, and went in hunt of kender wizards. While it would be far too fast and merciful, he allowed himself to look upon the ruined face of the evil wizard he'd shot and imagining Sylvie Starblossom's face being the same sorry mess brought him intense pleasure. Maybe it would be how he'd execute her after he was done with her, though he'd also been looking forward to administering a coup de grace with his bastard sword of law.

He brightened as he remembered a cleric who owed him big and knew he was powerful enough to restore life to the dead—he could execute this half-kender wizard multiple times! When she couldn't be raised anymore, he'd have her reincarnated magically and cast into the elemental plane of fire! He'd have recoiled if he'd seen the look of ecstatic hatred on his own face as he joyously thought of this possibility.

He stopped short when Sylvie appeared in front of him, looking very sad and somehow reproachful. "Hello, Measure Tyrm," she said, more serious than she'd ever sounded before. "I see you've set aside this special time to humiliate yourself."

Measure Tyrm spat, but didn't lose it—her heart just didn't seem into it, robbing her insult of whatever power it might have over him. "Your allies are dead. I have defeated your chaos, and I will continue to defeat your chaos, until I bring the universe much closer to the harmony it was meant to have by executing you, and all those who would ally with you against universal peace." He struggled to calm his breathing as he looked around. She appeared to be alone.

She shook her head. "You already killed someone, a little boy. One of you, I guess that Steeleye of yours, uttered a magical dictum, infused with the planes of law, and it hurt all of us. Most of us were merely temporarily deafened, but some suffered other debilitating effects. One, a street urchin that had been sold as a slave to horrible magical abuse in Darkhold, however, was slain by your spell." She looked up at the darkening sky sadly, as if she were trying not to cry. "At least he got to see sunlight one last time." By now the sun had set and its last light was giving way to the first stars of night.

"If the boy had proper respect for the law, he wouldn't have died," said Measure Tyrm. "It is regrettable he couldn't be saved, but more regrettable still is to let chaos run free and see many more die." He shook his head. "I don't care about your boy at all. Cry all you want over some chaotic street rat that got himself sold into slavery, but I won't waste my tears."

Sylvie asked in subdued curiosity, "Got himself sold into slavery? How is a boy not yet even adolescent responsible for what adults do to him?"

Measure Tyrm blinked at that. Finally, he said, "The boy was inexperienced, but he still made his own choices. Perhaps he was disobedient and his parents sold him. In a world as overburdened with freedom as this one is, anything could've happened." He shrugged. "Whatever the case may be, had he the proper respect for the law, the spell wouldn't have harmed him in the slightest."

Sylvie blinked. "You really don't care, do you? All your talk of peace and harmony is just meaningless to you. You'll spread killing and misery as long as you can get obedience. That's not harmony, that's tyranny."

"Better than the alternative!" shouted Measure Tyrm. "I've lost a child, too, to the chaos of that insane surfing event at White Sands where I first laid my eyes upon your accursed figure."

Sylvie blinked. "You mean Lenny?"

Measure Tyrm's face twisted in rage. "His name is Lent," he said in a clipped tone. "And he ran away in love with chaotic freedom, and it killed him!"

Sylvie shook her head. "No. He's alive. The baatezu that commands you sent some agents to retrieve the boy believing him dead, but was turned away. A solar—an Arborean solar, by the way, full of chaos and goodness—brought your son back to life. I know little else, other than he's happy…"

"LIES!" shouted Tyrm, "I SAW him in the battle there while chasing YOU, he barely recognized me, just as I'd expect from a petitioner! He's dead, and his soul ensnared by the chaotic plane." There was real pain in his voice as he said the last.

"Did he ever see you covered in blood and in a killing rage before?" Sylvie also wondered if he'd been on any of the many intoxicants available at the Gauntlet which would also explain Lenny not recognizing his father immediately upon seeing him in bloodstained armor.

Measure Tyrm opened his mouth, closed it, and took a deep breath. "I protected him from those things until he was old enough to understand. No, unlike you chaotics, we don't expose our children to things like war until they're older and specially trained for it."

"He's alive," said Sylvie, "and happy from what I hear, and protected by the celestials there."

"If he's alive, he's dead to me, forever banished from the harmony to come. I'd execute him myself if I had to, for the greater good of all."

Sylvie blinked. "But he's your SON!"

Measure Tyrm spat. "He'd be a cross-trading, bubbering berk who turned stag! It would be better if he were dead. Don't act like you're any different." Then he smiled hatefully. "And do you know how I tracked you to Corm Orp?" When Sylvie shook her head, he said, "Talindra Starblossom. She doesn't consider you family and was all too happy to tell us where you'd be. She just insisted we take you before some bladesinger showed up."

Sylvie's eyes widened in fear. "What did you do to her?"

He laughed harshly. "Nothing. She just wanted us to leave the rest of her clan alone, and was willing to tell us how to capture you and your father. So now you can understand when family turns stag."

Sylvie sighed. "No, that just makes me very, very sad. But I'm not going to kill her over it. What I'll do—if anything—isn't something I can decide quickly. But we've never been close. Now if my granny or my bladesinging aunt had turned stag, that would be heart breaking, but even then I wouldn't want them dead, and I certainly wouldn't kill them myself. But I'd want to know why."

Measure Tyrm shook his head. "Then you don't understand duty, honor, and obligation."

Sylvie returned with, "And you don't understand love. And you never loved your son, just some fantasy of him that was never real."

"Don't taunt me, kender, it won't work."

Sylvie shrugged. "If I wanted to taunt you, I'd have noted that you looked like shit and then asked if that was the fashion in Arcadia now." As she saw him blink in anger, she added, "Or that my cat has spit up hairballs prettier than you look right now."

Her heart wasn't really into it, but his nerves were shot from frustration, anger, and what she'd just said about his son. He didn't care if it was fast, he'd drag her corpse back to Arcadia and have her raised from the dead as he'd intended to do anyway, so switching his bastard sword to his off hand, he pulled his pistol back out and shot her right in the face.

Sylvie blinked, unharmed. "That's one of those guns, isn't it? We have them on this world, but it's mostly gnomes who have them, along with some Lantanese humans. Not that we have tinker gnomes here, these are your standard rock gnomes. They're very rare on this world otherwise."

"DAMN YOU, KENDER!" Measure Tyrm dropped his pistol and his bastard sword in seething frustration and lunged at her, eyes full of hatred and violence. But when his sword passed through her harmlessly, he stopped, breathing angrily. "I know this spell," he said. "You're nearby, projecting an illusion of yourself. You can cast spells through it, and hear and see as if you were here so long as you ignore where you're actually at. I guess that means you have your familiar guarding you."

Sylvie blinked. "What a strange question. But yes, he's stretching his legs before we keep riding…"

"Finding a sand box, is he? At least he's still mortal and not just another illusion."

Sylvie frowned at that comment, and continued, "And I've got others guarding me. I just had to let you know who you killed, and see if there was anything you could tell me about WHY you did it…"

"Why aren't you casting any spells?" he asked, as he sheathed his sword, picked up his pistol, and began reloading it. So she still had allies left then. "I bet you're almost out. I know you wizards can only cast so many a day, and you have to prepare them in advance. Are you prepared for me, wizard? Do you have any more spells? And if you do, do you have anymore that might actually stop me? Because I have 8 more bullets, each one capable of stopping you." He really hoped he got a chance to use his ring of spell turning, even if it was to just make her waste a spell. He sheathed his gun and readied his sword as he went in search of the real Sylvie.

"You're a fanatic, Measure Tyrm, you care so much for the ends that you no longer care about the means."

"I do my duty," agreed Measure Tyrm. "That's a virtue, not a vice." He began walking while there was still a little light left. He knew she had to be close. "You may have strong feelings against it, but we have strong feelings FOR it."

"Ah, yes," answered Sylvie. "Like Suwein Lous said, 'Everyone's got strong opinions regarding the Harmonium—especially the Harmonium.'"

"Who?"

"Suwein Lous, a Sensate poet."

"Sensate? No one of consequence then."

"Is nobody significant who doesn't believe as you do?"

"A few bloods, especially among the Red Death. But you're one to talk about fanaticism, aren't you? Coming onto Arcadia to break people out of our camps when all we were doing was rehabilitating them tells me you're a fanatic in your own way, Sylvie Starblossom."

"I help the innocent, I save them from danger. That's not fanaticism, that's just goodness."

Measure Tyrm shouted, "And what do you think WE'RE doing!? We're not just trying to help a few pathetic sods, we're helping the ENTIRE UNIVERSE, bringing the maximum peace and harmony to ALL! Once there's universal harmony, there's won't BE any more children living on the streets or places like Darkhold, just as there isn't on Ortho." Resuming his search, he loudly added, "I've done far more to help far more people than a chaotic do-gooder like yourself has ever dreamed of doing, you clueless, good-for-nothing kender."

"If you really cared for our well being, you'd put a bag over your head."

Measure Tyrm smiled contemptuously. "Nice try, kender, but you're not going to make me…what's this?" He grunted as a stone hit him, but didn't penetrate his armor.

Topknot, also upset by the dead boy, familiar with the Harmonium (though she hadn't given them much thought before today), having heard Measure Tyrm's slurs against kender, and wanting to show Sylvie what a REAL taunt was like, simply had to intervene. As she let loose another stone from her hoopak, she called out, "How many kinds of stupid are you trying to be? I've seen better heads on lettuce. I'd tell you to grow a brain, but if you did it would only be lonely. And do you know anyone other than yourself who was conceived by anal sex?"

Her pitch was right, her tones changing per insult to match the words and message perfectly, but it was only making Measure Tyrm more resolved. "That's the voice of a TRUE kender, not some half-breed wizard. Looks like I get a start on wiping out your miserable race right here on this rock." He looked around in frustration. "Come on out! FIGHT me!" He grunted as another rock hit him and began walking in that direction, shield up. "Fight me face to face!"

"Eww, no!" shouted the kender's shrill voice, "I don't want to get stupid on my hands, and everyone knows that when you hit shit up close, it splatters on you!"

A rock hit him from another direction, again without hurting him, and he again changed direction. Then he saw her. "I have you," he hissed, and ran toward her as fast as he could in his thick armor. The next sling bullet she shot from her exotic staff bounced off his armor harmlessly and didn't slow him down in the slightest.

"Mom!" Sylvie shouted.

Measure Tyrm smiled grimly as he heard what he liked to think was fear in the half-kender. Then he heard her casting a spell and activated his _ring of spell turning_ with the command word, "Arteus."

But the spell didn't target him. He stopped as he heard 2 roars and turned to see 2 celestial lions, the shaggy kind found on Arborea, rather than the more regal or axiomatic kind found on Arcadia. But knowing the wizards penchant for illusions, he challenged the reality of the attacking lions in his mind as they attacked, and as he began fighting them, he was able to tell that they were indeed merely pieces of shadow with an illusion shaped over them.

"How many spells do you have left wizard!?" he shouted, as he cut one illusion down and began to work on the other. But just as he cut the other illusion down, he felt an arrow go into his back, especially well placed, and freezing skin into frostbite. It was also placed in an area that he couldn't pull it out without a lot of twisting.

He turned around, breathing hard, and realized that it was too dark to see more than a few feet. Worse, clouds were rapidly gathering in the darkened sky, cutting the light level down even more. From behind his shield, he took the time to find a potion and quaffed it, helping to heal some of his wounds. Then he took another one that would allow him to see in the dark by the heat patterns, a type of vision common to those who lived underground, and among many planar races that didn't always have reliable natural light to see by. It was a crude vision, practically no better than black and white that didn't extend beyond 60 feet, but it allowed him to see the ground which still held a little more warmth than the air above it. Of course, any life forms within range of his vision would shine as a beacon of light in the dark.

Even better, he saw a patch of ground up ahead that was slightly warmer than where he was. He hurried over to it before the heat could dissipate, and saw more thermal tracks barely affecting the ground. He followed them and nodded in satisfaction as he saw the glowing forms of what appeared to be humans, half-elves, and an elf.

More importantly, a cat.

Measure Tyrm pulled out a tiny ceramic globe, no more than 3 inches wide, and smashed it into the ground. A gift from Romamman, "in case the wizard should prove more difficult than expected," it now opened a portal and summoned forth a spinagon to serve him faithfully for an hour. Looking like a gargoyle only 3 feet tall, with eyes glowing a dull red and covered from head to toe in projectile spikes, it tittered in a way that instantly annoyed Measure Tyrm—though not anywhere as annoying as he found kender.

"KILL THE CAT!" shouted Measure Tyrm loudly.

The shriek he heard to the side almost behind him, one of terror and despair from Sylvie, was a sweet nectar to his bitter soul. Romamman was wise, and he was glad he'd followed the suggestion of his superior officer to have the fiend target her familiar first.

Still tittering, it took off in flight, after the cat that had already fled beyond Measure Tyrm's field of vision. He saw a half-elf fire a crossbow at the spinagon, and they were all dodging its projected spikes in return as it passed, some of them hit. But it didn't slow down from going after the cat.

He then saw the half-kender's form racing as fast as she could to the side of him. He raised his sword and pursued, not willing to let her out of his sight again. As soon as he had her, he intended to take her back as a prisoner using the _cubic gate_ and send in reinforcements to get her friends. But before he'd gotten too far, he was shocked as a beaded piece of rope suddenly went around his ankles, tripping him.

Growling in frustration, he kicked off the rope and saw the thermal outline of an approaching kender who seemed to be swinging something that made a high pitched tone as it was spun. It operated similar to bolas as it lashed around his sword hand and hilt and painfully jerked his sword out. Then the brazen kender picked up that exotic staff and charged him, the sharpened end pointed right for his throat.

Measure Tyrm pulled his pistol again and fired, giving off a flash in the dark that momentarily dazzled his vision, and was gratified to see the kender stagger. He then picked up his sword and dropped the pistol as he heard the other members of the kender's party approaching him.

He fought them all, and found only the human barbarian to be of any impressive fighting ability, and even his ability to fight was significantly less than his own. The elf chanted while the halfling held a short sword at her side and he again activated his _ring of spell turning_, but the spells seemed more to empower the rogues attacking him than to affect him in any way. And they managed to hurt him, especially that rapier with chaotic energy in one half-elf's hand, but his own sword, bristling with the energy of the planes of law that punished those aligned with the planes of chaos, gave back more than he took.

But then he gasped in confusion as he felt a sharpened pain pierce his armor and drive into his back. The others jumped back as he fell forward. He turned to see who'd delivered such a deadly blow and saw the kender's form raise her hoopak, the sharpened side warm with his blood, raise it to deliver a _coup de grace_. His last prayer was that his faction, especially Romamman, never found out that he'd been slain by a mere kender using one of their exotic weapons that he and his fellows had mocked in Arcadia.

Meanwhile, the spinagon was frustrated that its spikes seemed to always miss the cat, and wasn't sure if it was because he showed such agility in dodging or was magically protected. Faelar himself knew that the spells protecting him from ranged and melee attacks had expired, though after passing the Hardheads, his wizard had cast her spell to protect him from fire, fearing the war wizard's staff.

That protection was something Faelar was grateful for as the giggling fiend produced a flame in its hand and threw it at the tiny beast. The first one missed, but a new flame was instantly in its hand and it threw it again. It giggled again as it hit, but gave a high-pitched shriek when the flame failed again to hurt the cat. It gave another shriek as the flame in its hand died out and it dove straight down at the dodging, fleeing animal.

Faelar yowled as the fiend caught it, and it giggled as it felt the cat bleed on it. He slammed the cat down and tried to finish it, but the cat leaped up and evaded the blow. Shrieking, it fired its spikes from its skin and then giggled manically as the cat yowled again, this time more in despair than in shock and pain.

As it spread its wings to leap at the cat to finish it, it was surprised by an arrow piercing it from behind and the arrowhead coming out its front. The cold the arrow radiated didn't bother it as its own internal fires cancelled out any damage it could do. But the electrical damage it did was quite the shock, in addition to such a well placed sneak attack. Staring at the magical arrowhead protruding from its chest, it died and vanished back to the hell from which it had been summoned.

Sylvie ran forward and cried, seeing him covered in his own blood, and even having a couple of fiendish spikes sticking in him. He meowed very sadly and then yowled again as she pulled the spikes out. He waited patiently as Sylvie cast about the very last spell she had, one that would allow her to share her life force with her familiar. Similar to the touch attack Sergor and Tyrm suffered, that ripped out their life force while healing the evil wizard that had magically ripped it from their bodies, she willingly let her life force flow into her familiar (and it could only work with Faelar, no one else), bringing him back from the brink of death. She stopped the spell before he was fully healed, as she had her own wounds and magical damage, but at least she was confident Faelar would survive. She let him climb back into his _familiar pocket_ on her belt to rest, as well as to get out of the rain beginning to fall.

She rejoined the others and learned that the entire Hardhead patrol was dead. Using her lenses, she helped take many items from the dead, including a _cubic gate_ that she had a special plan for.

"This storm is unnatural," said Jastra, shivering.

"I think a surly wizard at Darkhold made it happen," agreed Sylvie, "just out of spite. The question is, is it to spite us, or the diabolist that led the pursuit against us?"

Jastra shook her head. "I don't know. But better out here in the storm than in there with the ugliness."

Though it was harsh, they traveled slowly through the rain to put as much distance between them and Darkhold, Sylvie now holding a _staff of fire_ to deal with any who dared to attack. None did. The dead child was on a horse himself, for Sylvie hoped he could be brought back from death by one of the powerful clerics that would be visiting Corm Orp for the festival, and if not, at least bury him farther away from where he'd been made to suffer horribly, and among the goodness of the hin.

Only after they passed a bend that was narrow did Sylvie use one of her last scrolls to transmute the rocky ground to mud, which would last a long time thanks to the wizard weather. A little further down and on slightly higher ground while sheltered by Levin's elven cloak, she used almost the very last scroll to summon a temporary stone shelter that was very secure. Despite this, at least one person stayed awake to keep watch in shifts, leaving only Syvlie and Jastra to sleep (or trance in Jastra's case) to better recover their spells, the cleric to focus purely on much needed healing magic. Most of the others were too nervous to sleep much anyway, and had unpleasant dreams when they did.

Despite the thunder and fitful dreams of what they'd all experienced in Darkhold, Sylvie slept very soundly, with Faelar sleeping on her lower legs.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21: WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Corm Orp was celebrating in full for several days, starting in the early afternoon and lasting well into the night, and adventurers from all over, mostly hin, had converged there to take part in the festivities.

Two of the exceptions present were Sylvie and Arvenyana Starblossom, who walked slowly together, enjoying the sights of merriment as they talked. Despite not being hin, they were both made to feel as if their presence was completely normal and welcome among the happy hin around them.

Sylvie wore her hair in a special topknot, one that had been the rage in Hylo on Krynn years ago, which fell to her right side divided into 3 strands of blue-black braids. At odds with her exotic hairstyle was the simple patchwork dress of autumn colors she wore, with only her magic belt, and her snap wand holster under a sleeve holding a special wand. She was even barefoot in the style of the hin.

Arvenyana, whom Sylvie called "Aunt Arvie," wore her deep black and well-oiled leather armor, complete with dyed black boots that would enable her to run on ice or snow as if it were smooth ground and leave no tracks, and with her _frostblade_ sheathed at her side. However, at the insistence of Fairweather Daisypetal, she also wore a green wrap embroidered with small daisies around her shoulders and had allowed her to tie her hair in a ponytail with a yellow kerchief.

"You know you can skip the leather armor," said Sylvie lightly, after Arvenyana complimented her on her look. "This is a day for celebration."

Arvenyana smiled slightly. "I am a bladesinger, I'm always prepared. Especially this close to Darkhold, and when some 'faction' might come to seize my brother and my niece." Her blue eyes, much like Panwyr's and Sylvie's, went fierce as she said the last.

"Don't worry about them," said Sylvie. "I went back to White Sands, and accompanied by Eurid and Trelahn, I went and talked to Factol Faith herself on Arcadia. She's dropped all charges against everyone who interfered with those camps, said the operation at White Sands had never been sanctioned by her, and the Baatorian fiend that commanded the operation after me and Dad was exiled back to Baator, and presumably demoted."

"I don't trust them," replied Arvenyana simply. "And it was foolish of you to have gone."

"I was surprised by Faith's goodwill myself," admitted Sylvie. "But Eurid is an archmage and a factor of the Sensates. Trelahn is a like a proxy to a solar, who in turn answers to Queen Morwel. In other words, those were some powerful bloods at my side. The _cubic gate_ I took from Tyrm was pretty damning evidence, too, leading to several areas under Baatorian influence, including Romamman's office—er, former office now--in Arcadia, and one planar gate leading to the 9th Pit of Baator itself, to the lair of fiends that had obviously been studying the Arcadian god Azuth for some reason. And while the Harmonium might not have trusted us, they are trying to clean up their image, and declaring a war on the Sensates or eladrin and other Arborean celestials isn't the best way to go about to prove their goodwill and to inspire harmony." She shook her head, and added, "She also claimed that the 'rehabilitation camps' were never sanctioned by her husband, and only the cover-up was."

"Cover up?"

"The camps were evil enough that the domain with the camps shifted over to a plane of law devoid of any goodness and the modrons seized it. It was major egg on their faces. Faith even said she wished people like me had rescued more because it might've saved the domains in Arcadia that they'd lost." She shook her head. "But I don't think she liked us very much, she was just being diplomatic. Yet she seemed very serious as she talked about weeding out the baatezu and other overtly evil members of her faction, and I wish her well on that."

Arvenyana shook her head again. "I've learned to not trust even most paladins, so I still don't trust them. They talk about how those like us, with freedom in our hearts, are whimsical, but I've seen the most mind boggling rationalizations and doubletalk from those who champion the forces of law. And then when they get caught at doing something like putting freethinkers and others they don't like in dungeons, they and their supporters say it was 'only a few bad apples,' holding themselves to lower standards than they do those with so-called 'chaotic' alignments."

Sylvie nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I'm wary of anyone too zealous for laws, too, with a few notable exceptions." She took a breath as she added, "But I don't want to become a fanatic like Measure Tyrm. I've thought about some of the things he said, and while I still don't agree, I do think he had a point. I have the potential to become as blind and zealous as he did, just in an equal but opposite way. And if he'd have succeeded in killing Faelar…" Here she paused, and then said in a serious tone, "I'd have felt a hatred for him and his faction as he did for me and those of Arborea. I really COULD become like him under the wrong circumstances. And he's not someone I want to be like, not even as an 'anti-Harmonium' fanatic."

"I can't see you as a fanatic, Sylvie." Smirking, she added, "Your mind wanders too much to get that obsessed."

"I hope not. But you know, I let Dad talk me into killing a woman while he killed a goblin. Yes, his reasons were sound, and what I saw of the woman's mind showed me that she was as evil as she was insane, but I never even thought to read the mind of the goblin first to see if he was as insane as the Zhentish woman, or as evil. I keep kicking myself for that. Not all goblins are evil."

Arvenyana shook her head fiercely. "Don't kick yourself over a dead goblin. Too many are evil for you to casually assume otherwise."

Sylvie shook her own head in disagreement. "Some of the nicest people I met in Sigil were goblins. I guess that's in part because of how surly most Sigilians were to me, but the goblins that lived there in a quarter they claimed in the Hive weren't evil, they were just wanting to do business, after having been driven off from their home world by humans intent on wiping them out. Most became Indeps, so the Hardheads hated them for that reason, too. Perhaps because they were so persecuted, and considered me harmless, they were very tolerant of me, and honorable in all their dealings, whereas too many humans and even those of elven blood in the Hive would've slit your throat just for the practice." She smiled a little sadly as she added, "When they heard about how depraved goblins were from a human, they were bemused, because they said what he described goblins as doing was what they'd learned to expect HUMANS to do."

Arvenyana laughed, darkly amused, and in grudging sympathy, having met enough black-hearted humans, or even those who were just "kill everything that moves" which irked her intensely. Then she said, "I do not know about goblins in Sigil, but here in Faerun, it's wise to bet that a goblin is evil and act accordingly."

Sylvie nodded. "I can't disagree. But Jastra reminded me that to embrace hatred, even against evil enemies, was a path of corruption that led one to being evil in fighting evil. I told her that I killed a Zhentish mage while he was temporarily helpless, and the woman and goblin I killed, and while she was sympathetic, she said I was treading on dangerous ground and may be slipping from a righteous path into one of fanaticism in which the ends justify the means. I think that's what happened to Measure Tyrm, and what might happen to me if I'm not more careful about my passions."

"So how are you going to 'be careful'? Avoid confrontation with the forces of law and evil?"

"Not so much avoid as not seek out," said Sylvie. "And to help make up for having harmlessly tormented the Helmites over the years in Silverymoon, I did pass on those weapons with lawful energy for Talindra to give to them. From the clan itself, of course, as they'd never dare accept such magic if they knew it came from me."

"Talindra was surprised I bet."

"Oh, yeah," said Sylvie, with a small frown. She hadn't told anyone else what Tyrm had told her, and hadn't confronted Talindra yet, and didn't know if she ever would. But there was no denying that Talindra WAS surprised to see her, and doubly so bearing magic items that she'd admitted to looting from the Harmonium patrol that had tried arresting her and her dad. Shrugging, she told Arvenyana, "But given the rising problem of the orcs and the tanar'ri that escaped the fall of Hellgate Keep, I think the Helmites can use those weapons for good against the enemies of Silverymoon. It's just part of how I'm trying to make sure I don't become a fanatic."

"One of them might end up using one of those _swords of law_ against me, you know. I've clashed with Helmites before."

"You and me both," agreed Sylvie. "Still, even with one hand tied behind your back, I bet you could beat any paladin that tried to take you out, even with such a sword."

"There is that," said Arvenyana in all seriousness, and Sylvie laughed, and laughed harder still when she caught Arvenyana lifting a brow in silent question of what she found so amusing about a simple fact.

Sylvie took a couple of calming breaths before adding, "I also gave Talindra the _staff of fire_. I said in return I expected her to use it, or give it to someone else to use, in defense of Silverymoon, and as a personal favor, to reconsider her view that I'm only a cause for shame to the clan." Sylvie thought that if Talindra did show signs of being more accepting of her, she might never let it be known that she knew what Talindra had done. And given how Jastra was singing the praises of her and her parents, she would likely soon be talked about in glowing terms in Evereska, which could mean her family in Evereska and Silverymoon both might become more accepting of her.

"Will you be accepting Mom's invitation in Silverymoon?"

"Eventually," said Sylvie. "I've still got to do an unspecified 'small favor' next spring on the Dragon Coast for Cade, the Luckbringer who brought Darvin back from the dead. It was one of the lesser spells to bring the dead back to life, so it took him a few days to recover, but he's out enjoying the festival, and temporarily staying with the Daisypetals."

"Cade, a priest of Tymora? Isn't he a halfling?"

Sylvie shrugged. "The hin believe that Tymora is one of their own who has conned the humans into worshiping her, too." When she saw Arvenyana blink, she added, "Shh, don't let the humans in on the secret."

Arvenyana smiled, chuckling softly, somehow reminding Sylvie of how a stream flowing over rocks sounds. "I'll never be able to meet another human cleric of Tymora again without having to smother a laugh." Then her smile faded as she added, "And all he wanted was a 'small favor,' huh? Maybe I should go with you. After all, a spell that powerful is rarely given cheaply."

"I'd welcome your company, Aunt Arvie," said Sylvie sincerely. "And if you want, you could stay with me at the Daisypetals for the winter. I'm sure Corm Orp would welcome an extra wizard and bladesinger to help guard against the winter raids by Darkhold."

Avenyana nodded. "I think I shall. Unlike you, I don't fear being a fanatic, and I'll gladly counter Darkhold's forces whenever they show themselves."

Sylvie nodded. "You and me both. The things I saw in that fortress…" She sighed. "Be careful, their magic is most foul. I couldn't even heal from all of it until I was in the hallowed, consecrated Ladyhouse, and then only by divine healing magic." She shook her head. "One item Mom brought out of Darkhold was a candle. It was enchanted to help the one burning it to detect good and be protected from it. It was destroyed."

"Your mom didn't mind?"

"Easy come, easy go. She was just curious, and had other mementos. She even gave Cade her emerald as part of paying for Darvin being raised from the dead."

Arvenyana nodded. "The two potion belts and scroll organizer the Harpers gave to me for our party to infiltrate Darkhold I gave to the Ladyhouse. It was meant to overcome their evil, and so it still shall, be it by us or some other fools." She smiled. "On the good side, it was good you went early. Darvin never would've survived had you waited for me."

Sylvie nodded. "And I'm glad I got there while he still had his eyes." She shuddered then, and decided to change the subject. "So much weirdness since I went to White Sands. Many things I casually said came true in twisted ways, I met people I thought long dead, Dad rediscovered his lost love…it was as if some power of chaos and goodness touched us, even used us, to bring goodness to other realms through our chaos." She shrugged. "I guess that doesn't make any sense."

"No it doesn't," answered Arvenyana, "but it's intriguing all the same. It's almost like you're saying your heart and soul are part of Arborea, and by following your heart, you're acting as an agent of Arborea, and in doing so, Arborea's qualities somehow manifested around you."

"You DO understand!" shouted Sylvie excitedly, missing the confused look this brought to her elven aunt's face. "Still, it doesn't exactly explain a few other things, like how Measure Tyrm's son Lenny, who'd been manipulated by the baatezu, has found a new home and bride there in Arborea, the baatezu's plan backfiring in so many ways. Now instead of becoming a Harmonium Measure, Lenny looks as if he's going to become one of the best shredders at White Sands."

"Shredders?"

"Someone proficient in a water sport popular at White Sands, where one rides waves while balancing on a board," said Sylvie. "You really should come to the next Gauntlet. You're a real blood when it comes to tumbling, balancing, and swimming, so I bet you could become an awesome shredder, too. A lot of other elves show up."

She nodded. "I think I will. And if any more 'unsanctioned' Harmonium forces make an appearance, I'll be prepared to deal with them, too."

Sylvie grinned. She had to admit the image was appealing. Then she frowned thoughtfully as she added, "Oddest bit was when I was last in White Sands I had the most realistic dream of a bariaur Indep in Sigil raising a cup of wine in my honor. He told me to thank Mom for putting that Hardhead in the dead book for him."

Arvenyana rolled her eyes as she heard Sylvie continue to speak in that slang of her. She understood most of it, but had never gotten into the habit of using it herself. She'd visited the other planes as well, but only briefly and never got involved in planar affairs the way Sylvie and her parents had done. Maybe she should expand her horizons. She frowned briefly as she wondered if Arborea was somehow calling her, through her own heart and soul as well as Sylvie's, before dismissing the notion as ridiculous.

Topknot joined them, excited. "Hey! Jastra has invited us to go to Evereska with her, and Panwyr and I are going to renew our vows! Wanna come?"

"I'd be happy to see you there," answered Arvenyana.

"Me, too," said Sylvie.

"Hey, Sylvie, could you make me some magic weapons, too?" Obviously, Topknot had taken in stride that she'd missed her daughter growing up years. But then many kender left their children behind to be raised by other kender when they went off on wanderlust. To Topknot, this was no doubt just an interesting experience, and was glad that she didn't have to keep dropping little Sylvie off somewhere whenever she wanted to go somewhere dangerous anymore.

"Sure," replied Sylvie. "When I have some spare time."

"I was wondering," said Topknot, "why did you make your sithak make arrows so cold?"

"Partly because those that make arrows burn can cause all kinds of problems, no matter how urban or rural or wild the area you're at is. But mostly in honor of Aunt Arvey here."

"Me?" asked Arvenyana as her brows rose.

"You're called Frosty," answered Sylvie, "not only because you're supposed to remain cool under fire, or because of your pale skin with hints of icy blue, but because of your _frostblade_. So I gave my sithak similar qualities." She shrugged. "It's odd, but I never felt at home anywhere. After awhile I decided that home was with those I cared about, wherever that may be, tying myself to people more than places. I took the topknot as a sign of my acceptance of kender blood, as well as in memory of my mom given her nickname, especially after Mom's family accepted me fully, unlike the Starblossom clan. I almost changed my last name to Star Wanderer, not only for being a spacefarer, but as a mix of Dad's surname of Starblossom and Mom's surname of Farwanderer, but I changed my mind, not wanting to hurt your feelings, or granny's."

Arvenyana nodded. "And you gave your kender weapon the cold quality to show your connection to me? I'm deeply flattered."

Sylvie added to the sincere flattery. "Whenever I think of martial excellence and success at defending loved ones and important principles, I think of you, which is why I made my sithak frosty, similar to your sword. Pity that I couldn't impart the same resistance to fire that your _frostblade_ does, but I have a ring that makes up for that."

"I remember a really cold winter in Bristle Patch," said Topknot, referring to her home tree village near the city of Kendermore on Krynn, "where I had such a cold in my head that Dad couldn't wash my face without the water freezing, keeping me from sneezing."

Arvenyana blinked. "Is that so?"

"Dad said it didn't surprise him," Topknot continued, "he said he remembered a winter so cold that they had to start a fire under the cow before they milked her."

Arvenyana blinked even harder. "I…see." Then turning back to Sylvie, she added, "This winter is supposed to be cold, too. After Panwyr and Topknot renew their vows, I'm fully prepared to spend the winter here with you. And woe onto Darkhold should they attempt to punish Corm Orp for the loss of their drugs, evil magic, and evil mages!"

"I need my own special name," said Sylvie, "to go with Frosty. How about the Icicle Archer?"

"And who can I be?" asked Topknot.

Arvenyana ran a long finger over her chin twice before snapping and saying, "Freeze Brain, in memory of the epic head cold you survived as a child. If you can survive a head cold so bad that water froze when it touched your face, then let Darkhold know of it and beware." She smiled then, "And I can change my name to Snow Wench. Let the Zhents become laughing stocks as they are thwarted time and time again by heroes such as us."

"Will you wear chain mail bikini?" asked Sylvie. "I've seen some dancers at the more bawdy taverns wear it, so I know they sell it."

Arvenyana's golden flecks in her blue eyes seemed to sparkle more brightly than usual with their shared amusement. "Hardly practical, but if you make me some _bracers of armor_, I'd consider it. As long as I wear my magic boots, I don't need to fear the cold, anymore than I need to fear fire while I wield my _frostblade_."

Levin was suddenly with them. "Did someone mention dancers in bikini chain mail?"

"Yeah," said Sylvie, "we were wondering how much a finder's fee we could get for introducing you to the proprietor of the Smiling Satyr in Silverymoon."

Arvenyana laughed, before calming down to say, "We were thinking of working together to foil Zhentarim operations and changing our names to Freeze Brain, Icicle Archer, and the Amazing Snow Wench."

Levin lifted a brow. "May I ask why?"

Arvenyana grinned. "Can you imagine how hard it would be for the Zhentarim to maintain their dignity as they report to their superiors, hire spies and assassins, and even interrogate prisoners in regards to their infamous foils, Brain Freeze, Icicle Archer, and the Amazing Snow Wench?"

The silver flecks in Levin's eyes sparkled in his blue eyes as he laughed.

Jastra joined them, and Levin filled her in on their idea. She congratulated them with, "What a beautiful idea!"

Levin nodded to them as he said, "I better go check on Borivik. Just because he drinks that Rashemen firewine doesn't mean he can handle the local cider as well as he thinks."

"Better check on Dad, too," commented Sylvie.

Levin smiled, and left, Jastra and Topknot going with him.

Arvenyana told Sylvie, "Jastra speaks very highly of you. You may find your next visit home to be a little less…frosty!"

Sylvie smiled, but didn't laugh. Nor did she tell her she considered Corm Orp and the Trielta Hills her home more than the elven clan she was descended from. Instead, she said, "I am thinking of going to Silverymoon in the near future for awhile, to learn how to craft portals from the Lady's College. After that, I'd like to craft a portal somewhere out of the way to Kendermore on Krynn. That way Mom can go back and forth at will." She smiled and added, "But while I'm there, I might do some spell research and come up with a few like _protection from Hardhead_ and _invisibility to Hardhead_."

"I hope you stay at our hold, or if you get your own place closer to the college, that you have a room available for me. And another thing, the Lady's College has such resources that by using them, you can even make magic items that your haven't learned how to make yet. It does cost more and take more time if you don't already know how, but at least you can do it."

"Sylvie!" Fairweather Daisypetal called out to them from a very long table (though short enough for hin to comfortably use) holding various treats. There were baskets holding apples, pears, or peaches, and several bowls with grapes or raisins. Many bottles of wines, ciders, and ales, along with free clay cups were also in abundance, as were platters of various cheeses. Strung up above the table laced from shrubs and trees were strings holding colorful clay designs of daisies and butterflies that made a pleasant rattling noise in the breeze.

Beside her was Charmaine, dressed in a flowing short sleeve dress of vertical yellow and white stripes with a green apron sporting a butterfly design. She wore a straw hat with a string under her chin holding it in place, and sported 2 exotic red pigtails braided and looped. She smiled joyously at them and waved before finding more food & drink on the table before her.

Sylvie headed to try the ham & turkey sampler plate near Fairweather, Arvenyana remaining beside her. "Hey! How are you enjoying the festival?"

"Always a pleasure," answered Fairweather. In addition to a wreath of daisies in her hair, she wore a v-necked golden-threaded lace dress covered in floral designs. The cuffs and hem of her dress were a brilliant yellow. She was currently munching an onion bulb raw the way a human would an apple.

Jenkin wore a simple green plaid shirt with a vest of autumn gold and brown pants. He also was smoking a pipe. He blinked when he saw Arvenyana frown. Knowing that most elves found smoking a revolting practice, he teased her a little. "I'm smoking a cherry flavored tobacco that was somehow grown in the Purple Hills. It doubles as an air freshener as well as a good smoke. Care to try it?" He offered his smoking pipe up to her.

Seeing Arvenyana stroke her _frostblade_ (well known for being able to put out fires, and now being considered for putting out a pipe, too), Sylvie interrupted. "That's, uh, very nice." When Jenkin offered her the pipe, she took it, much to Jenkin's surprise, and said, "Thanks." She took a puff and blew it out. To the looks of surprise on the Daisypetals and horror on Arvenyana's face, she added, "I cast a spell today that allows me to breathe the air of the elemental plane of smoke, and wanted to test what it was like to smoke a pipe while under the influence of the spell."

Jenkin blinked. "How is it?"

"Like breathing in the thick scent of cherries."

Arvenyana shook her head. "Do you have another spell to keep you from stinking of pipe weed?"

"No," admitted Sylvie, "but maybe this will help." So saying, she got another onion bulb and began eating it like an apple, just as Fairweather was doing.

Arvenyana spoke a few terse words in Elvish that shocked even Sylvie. Charmaine laughed with a mouth full of food.

"May I have my pipe back?" asked Jenkin. After he got it back, he tapped a wooden spoon to a clay cup of apple cider and said, "A toast! To Sylvie Starblossom, friend of Corm Orp, her father Panwyr, and a distant relation of ours, Merla Bramblefoot, for infiltrating Darkhold, foiling their operations, and rescuing innocent prisoners!"

Many other hin besides the Daisypetals drank a toast.

"Did someone mention us?" asked Panwyr approaching, with Borivik, Levin, and Merla.

"They did," said Sylvie, "but this time it was to say something nice."

"Oh, ha, ha," said Panwyr dryly. "Have you heard that Topknot and I are to renew our vows at the Fountainheart of Shimmering Gold in a tenday?"

Sylvie nodded. "Arvenyana and I both intend to go with you, but we'll be spending the winter in Corm Orp." She looked to Merla. "I assume you'll stay with us, too?"

Merla, wearing an emerald green tunic, orange scarf, and a yellow double hat, nodded while holding a cup of cider in one hand, and finishing off a hock of ham in the other. "A winter of good food, smoke, leisure, and protected by nature magic? Of course. And I wouldn't miss seeing a kender in Evereska. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to help the local Bramblefoots finish off their pies before they're done cooling." She was obviously content to stay.

Borivik, who'd obviously had drunk an excess of potent cider, said, "You wouldn't have believed the size of the mushrooms I saw! The halflings said they GREW them in their root cellars! The size of PUMPKINS! And then there are the pumpkins themselves, I'd think a halfling could build a temporary shelter out of some of them!" He was referring to the various contests and shows featuring various agricultural and other harvested produce at amazing sizes. "For such a small folk," he said in amazement, "they grow the biggest produce!"

"Actually," said Levin, "you should've seen Borivik here trying to catch a greased pig."

Sylvie frowned briefly as the image of zombies in magical grease came to mind, but firmly pushed it out of mind and focused on the revelry around her. Smiling again, she said, "By the mud on your shirt, Levin Eveningfall, I'd guess you tried catching it, too." When he smiled and nodded, she asked, "So where're Jastra and Topknot?"

Panwyr answered her, after Levin shrugged, with, "Jastra wanted to ask Topknot about kender ceremonies to add elements honoring her race and her world to the ceremony to come in Evereska."

Sylvie nodded. "Those elves who don't have to fear drowning in the rain from having their noses too far up should find it all very entertaining."

Panwyr nodded, but was a little nervous, knowing how things tended to disappear around kender, given their relentless curiosity and inability to understand private property the way most other sentient races could. "And I'll be playing at a hoedown tonight. Topknot will be playing her weapons for music, and I was hoping you could play your sithak."

"I'd love to!"

"You should enter the archery contests, too," added Panwyr. "Make up for your humiliating loss at 'hit the birdy'." Here, Panwyr referred to a common hin game where one tried hitting a target with a stone while another contestant—as herself—tried hitting the stone in the air before it hit the target. Without using magic, she scored really low.

"Ok," said Sylvie. "I can do that."

Darvin came running up, along with hin children.

"T-Topknot s-said you do magic shows at p-parties!" said Darvin. He didn't stammer as much. Darvin had told her earlier that he only stammered a little, but it became much worse for him while in Darkhold. Sylvie didn't know if it was due more to the trauma, or the spell that was literally eating away at his constitution to power the necromancer that held him prisoner. "Do some m-magic!"

He was currently staying with the Daisypetals, along with her and Arvenyana, for the immediate future, and was wearing brown britches and a pumpkin orange shirt that had originally been made for an adult tallfellow and adequately (barely) fit him. Merla was staying with the local Bramblefoots. The rest, including Panwyr and Topknot, had gotten rooms at one of the many temporary inns that had been set up for the festival.

As hin children also joined in, Sylvie pulled her wand out, one she'd acquired at a mage fair, that had many _prestidigitation_ effects held within it (with the command word of "presto!"), and began making motes of ethereal music, dancing lights, and various magical bouncing balls of sheer magic that children could throw to one another. She used it to heat and cool drinks and food, clean dirty clothes, blow away pipe smoke with tiny magical whirlwinds, and do such things as making a child's hair dance in funny patterns before twirling it into an intricate braid, too.

After awhile, Arvenyana, Panwyr, Levin, and Borivik wondered off, talking among themselves. She hoped they'd all show up for the hoedown, and was confident they would.

Meanwhile, more hin of all ages, joined her audience, she cast some of her more complex illusion spells, including using a _shades_ spell, the kind which she created quasi-real shadow version of illusory monsters of lemures and celestial lions against the tiefling diabolist and Measure Tyrm respectively, only they were brownies that danced with one another while Sylvie cast more spells to make fairy music to be heard to their dancing. .

After awhile, she took a break, let everyone know she was going to be playing at the hoedown, and then excused herself before exiting with a _dimension door_. She came out by another table and took a bite of cheese and got a cup of cider.

Faelar came up beside her. "If you're through entertaining the masses, how about feeding your loyal familiar? There's some good fish I'd like to have but they keep pushing me off the table."

"Push a cat off the table? What outrage," said Sylvie lightly. But she had Faelar, tail raised high, lead her to the table with fish and she got him a big plate of it. He ate happily and seemed fully recovered, mentally as well as physically, from the minor fiend that had nearly killed him. But then he was looking forward to a quite winter of good hin food and sleeping in front of constantly lit hin hearths.

Sylvie reflected again on the many positive changes that had happened, not only to both her parents, but also Darvin, and Lenny on Arborea, and many others. She wasn't quite sure how, but she sensed her own life had also changed. Perhaps she was ready for a little more responsibility, though she wasn't ready to give up her wandering ways just yet. Sipping some cider, she smiled as she thought of the renewed joy on her father's face, and the open happiness of her mother. She felt that in any case, she'd somehow also been changed for the better.


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22: EPILOGUE

In 1372, Faerun was hit by a wave of chaos that rocked the very foundations of the realms. Tilverton vanished, dragons raged, and an ancient Netheril city appeared in the sky. Evermeet was recovering from an invasion and Evereska was recovering from attacks by the Phaerimm, followed by the assault by fey'ri and their summoned tanar'ri. Indeed, tannuruk ("tanar'ri orcs") and fey'ri threatened the entire North, not to mention the more mundane orcish horde led by King Obould.

So it was completely understandable that Faerun took no notice of the new kingdom of Kenderrealm that had arisen in the wooded hills outside of the Neverwinter Woods. The pixies and sprites of the Neverwinter Woods knew, but they weren't telling. A group of priests devoted to Eldath were aware of the kender, but even if they were inclined to share news of their discovery, no one cares what a bunch of peacenick Eldathians have to say anyway. The Harpells of Longsaddle were aware of their new neighbors, but no one in their right mind goes to the Harpells for advice. (You might say Khelben has been known to consult with Malchor Harpell, but I repeat, "No one in their right mind.")

Besides, the capital city of Kenderealm, New Kendermore, was just a small hamlet anyway, mostly filled with the old and the very young of the kender race. Many of the able-bodied kender were roaming the planes, or looking for Krynn (a more interesting one than the 2-way portal), or catching rides on spelljammers in places like Waterdeep. The few kender that were exploring the realms looking for goatsucker birds (after all, if the kender were now here, maybe goatsucker birds were, too) or even interesting artifacts like the Crown of Thorns, Crenshinibon, or even the Graygem, were often mistaken for odd halflings or even fey folk.

Besides, the kender had some mighty strange notions that Faerunians focused on more than the kender themselves, like stories of the great kender Uncle Gaewron Windstrom, or Uncle Shadukel. Indeed, some rangers were deeply offended of the tales of an "Aunt Mielikki, a kender who changed into a unicorn, or maybe a unicorn who changed into a kender." But even they dismissed the kender as a type of particularly vexing leprechaun, one that was extremely hard to get rid of once they decided you were interesting enough to follow around.

In any event, the new kender immigrants were a rather minor footnote in Faerunian lore, given the demonic races that scoured Faerun, the invading orcish hordes, and the dragons gone insane with rage. Even the breakup of the Harpers was considered to be of more significance to people who had no idea what a kender actually was.

The fools.

**_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_**

_First, I'd like to thank all my betas, including Roger E. Moore who has written a novel about a half-kender himself called _The Maelstrom's Eye _(which I thoroughly enjoyed). This thanks also includes critics who pointed out mistakes (and may yet again) early enough for me to correct them with no real foul done. _

_Second, thanks to those who loaned me their stuff to help me make this. I've played very little D&D since 2001, but I've never lost interest in it. The two long-term campaigns I played were a Forgotten Realms and a Planescape one. When I was invited to play, I was only familiar with some Dragonlance books and really wanted to play a kender, but that wasn't allowed because "kender don't belong in the Forgotten Realms" (and "didn't fit the tone of Planescape very well"). Well, to them, I present this fic. ;-)_

_In addition to using canon material, novels, and my own gaming experiences from years ago, I also found the on-line Kender Handbook very helpful (found at the Kencyclopedia). Since so many contributed stories & fan art of kender wizards and kender in the Forgotten Realms, that also inspired me to make my own fic, too. And it was a lot of fun. ___

_If anyone is wondering why I didn't put any songs in this one, it was an experiment…and also because I thought of SO MANY songs, from so many genres and decades, to put in, both as they were to heavily adapted. So I just skipped that this time. _

_I also wanted to include Elaine Cunningham's song attributed to Danilo Thann about Zhents and sheep (I'd LOVE to hear that set to music!). For those that haven't seen this (it's in more than one book, one being _Elfshadow_), here it is:_

They're far from staid after a raid

Those men of Zhentil Keep;

They kill off all the women

For they much prefer the sheep.

The Zhents don't eat their ill-got treat;

Not one of them's a glutton.

So isn't it a marvel

That they always smell of mutton?

_But no doubt it was sung at the hoedown in Corm Orp. ;-)_

_If anyone is wondering, Sylvie is NOT an illusionist. Using the 3.5 system, however, she does have the _spell focus_ feat for illusions. And the spells she used on her familiar are also canon, either being found in _Tome and Blood_ (for _Fortify Familiar_ and _Enhance Familiar_, and also the _Familiar Pocket_), or _Dragon_ issue 280 (February 2001), page 63 (_call familiar_ and _share life_). As for creating her character, I used the Kender Handbook (see above), but replaced the racial bonus for various thieving skills with the halfling luck bonus, including the extra resistance against fear to stack with her half-kender heritage (and given that she'd did a lot of growing up in the Trielta Hills, I gave her the home region of "halfling"). She also has the quarter elven flaw described in an issue of _Dragon_ magazine (I forget which one, but essentially means she doesn't have the half-elven resistance to sleep and charm spells and isn't counted as having elven blood when it comes to dealing with elven-centric magic, wards, and mythals). _

_As for the special _entangle_ spell the halflings used in Corm Orp, that's from a 2__nd__ edition _Demihuman Deities,_ called _Sheela's Entangle_. (This source book also went into some detail regarding Corm Orp and the festival that was going on there at the end of the fic.)_

_I generally used Planescape sources to describe the planes, with only a little artistic license on my part here and there. However, White Sands is my own creation (but anyone is welcome to have fun putting it in their own campaigns). I used both borrowed source books and on-line sources for Spelljammer (including _The Maelstrom's Eye_ novel mentioned above and feel very lucky that the author of that was willing to critique my story as best he could—though he had very little to do with Planescape and the Forgotten Realms, and he's since moved onto things other than D&D). _

_And if you liked the mix of kender with darker elements & angst as late in my fic, then I strongly suggest the kender-centric novel _Spirit of the Wind_ by Chris Pierson. _

_As a final note, if you want to incorporate this story into a Forgotten Realms campaign, feel free! I checked, and Krynn was sucked away into another reality by Takhisis in 383 AC, which is one year after the spellplague hits Faerun (if you use 4rth edition D&D). Either of those would almost certainly destroy any crafted portals to Krynn. Which is to say that as of either 1385 or 1386 DR (or 382 or 383 AC as Krynn measures years), such portals would die and there'd be no more traffic between the 2 worlds. _

_If you accept the spellplague as describe by 4rth edition _Forgotten Realms campaign guide_, it's also unlikely that Longsaddle survived, which would make New Kendermore all the more isolated from the civilized world, and it's possible that they may have to retreat into the Neverwinter Woods to survive the orcs, and worse creatures, that would come to encroach on their territory. Sylvie is also unlikely to survive the spellplague, though given that she does A LOT of travel, it's certainly possible…_

_**ETA:** Last night (days after finishing this), I had a dream of doing a short story with Sylvie as a level 1 rogue in Waterdeep before she even thought of becoming a wizard, and I think I might do it one day. Thinking on it, I also thought of doing another short story (at least not meaning to be longer than say 5 chapters anyway) set in the Spelljammer campaign where she can cast 4rth level spells. But mostly I thought I'd like to do one (maybe about 10 chapters) that details her first visit to Krynn (beginning & ending in the Spelljammer campaign setting), where she has only 2 levels of wizard and even more levels of rogue (here she'd learn to use a sithak, grow her hair out and begin wearing a topknot, etc, and might even encounter certain DL characters, especially kender & half-kender characters). It would be a few months at least before I did any of this because I've got other things to take care of first, but if anyone would be interested in my posting it here sooner rather than (years) later, let me know, and I'll try.  
_


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